Waste of Emotion
by xXfireXflyXx
Summary: You are a waste of emotion. Every pore useless and insulting. - An AU tale of Lord Voldemort and his children, from start to finish. V/OC, SS/HR, LM/NM, etc.
1. I'm possessive, it isn't nice

**DISCLAIMER:** I do not claim that anything from the Harry Potter franchise is mine. Never will be, though I love to play with it! Nor are the ABBA songs used as titles for the chapters mine. No worries, darlings, they still belong to you.

**AUTHOR'S NOTE:**

Right. So this is a story I have wanted to write for a very long time, but never quite knew how to get it going. It's always been a fleeting idea, and I know how some scenes will play out perfectly, but I struggled with transitions to get there. Regardless, I'd like to think I am finally ready to start this, at the very least.

It _is_ AU. There is no way Voldemort would have children otherwise. I personally don't like writing a Voldemort that is really out of character, but it's necessary in some instances to make it work. (Not saying I don't like reading it, if it's reasonable. I'm not as much of a Voldemort stickler now as I used to be.) Those of you that have read my Tom Riddle stories and whatnot will know this Voldemort at least a little. I'd like to think he is a mix of OCC and IC to varying degrees, and although I may drift from his book character, I try my hardest to make him react to certain things in a remotely realistic way. No ridiculous love-struck-rapist!Voldemort for me, thanks.

Also, the first several chapters are flashbacks. I suppose they can be seen as oneshots for the development of a relationship. They are not as in-depth as I would like, but I'd prefer to develop the characters, the relationships and the events over time. So take them for what they are at first, and as the story goes on, I'm sure things will become clear. I'm not sure how many of these chapters will be flashbacks, but it will be written at the top of each chapter until we reach the present day timeline, which is in 1999 – AU because I ignore the novel ending, and follow a similar line to my _Him... a father?_ series in which Voldemort comes out victorious, though with Potter enemies lurking.

For now, enjoy the development of the relationships between 1971 and the mid-1990s. These first few chapters are basically a series of preludes to the actual story. Hopefully things are not too confusing, or too rushed. But the actual real main plot of the story will begin several chapters in. I simply did not want to make a detailed story on my OC and Voldemort at the present time (maybe I will at some point).

Anyway. Enjoy! And thank you in advance to all those that take the time to review! It seriously means a lot to me.

* * *

_**FLASHBACK – 1971 **_

Deidre sighed. There was nothing worse than working a slow night, particularly when _he_ was running late. Normally he would have been sitting at one of the slightly uncomfortable seats at the counter, smiling his dangerous smile and asking for continuous refills of coffee until she had to close the place up. Tonight he was late. Tonight, a night where she had served four fellows a beer and a steak sandwich, he had not come yet, and something inside her made her nervous.

The year was 1971, and she had been working at The Hobbit's Hat in her insignificant wizarding village in central Ireland since she had turned her back on her parents five years earlier. Naturally, that meant she never completed her full seven years of schooling; who wanted to keep attending Hogwarts so those _people_ could figure out where she was? No, Deidre had refused to return to Hogwarts when she left her house at fifteen, not yet of age, but capable enough to get around without a constantly reliance on magic.

Her parents hailed from a long line of purebloods, all of whom had a mysterious way of kicking it in their early forties. Not that it was odd for someone to have a lifespan of only forty years in this day and age, but that was where the Gyden clan stood. They died young. Most of her relatives were either somewhere in southern England – apparently it was always _lovely_ this time of year, which was bullocks – or her parents had burned ties years earlier.

They were difficult people to get along with. Stubborn, controlling, ignorant of the times... and of their heritage. You know they happily consorted with Muggles? Her father found them fascinating. There wasn't particularly much to tell. One fight led to another, and another, and another, and after years of constant tension and pressure, Deidre finally just left. She sought out family members that might take her in, but no one was willing to adopt Godric's girl, so she was left to find something on her own. Yes, that meant breaking into her trust fund and using it all to buy a small cottage in some pointless village in central Ireland, but that was hardly the issue. It gave her independence, you see? She found a job at a rather popular local diner, The Hobbit's Hat, and hasn't looked back since.

Two years later, at age twenty, she continued to exist a somewhat bland, but satisfying, existence. Many of her friends didn't understand; why wouldn't she just take her father's money? Both of them still loved her, and were willing to support her financially from afar (they were that... progressive pureblood type that seemed to think being liberal would earn their child's respect, mind you). However, there was something totally liberating about having one's own money, as small as it was, to deposit at the end of the month when the paycheck came by. It certainly wasn't much, but it was enough to slowly pay the mortgage on her cottage, and support her rather embarrassing and crippling love of shopping. A quick bus to the nearest (or farthest) large city always meant a day in the shops.

She still had the appearance of her class. High cheekbones, thick auburn hair with blonde highlights through from tip to root, cold blue eyes, and a constant look of annoyance around those that were less than she was that hinted at her disdain. Naturally, working in the service industry meant she would have to fake her horror at serving a Mudblood now and again, but it was all in a day's work. She could come home and whine to her friends over a nice hot drink whenever she felt like she needed to take four showers to get their stink off of her.

But enough of that. Her history was... boring. Her life was boring. Except for him. He came every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday evening, and would sit at her counter for hours asking for coffee. In the beginning she wouldn't really talk to him. The rest of the waitresses, herself included for a while, thought he was a creep. Quiet, reserved, sometimes with a scowl attached to his lips that lasted for hours; he was different. His appearance was... not as appealing as the other Irish lads that strolled through hoping she might give in to their courtships. No, he was cold. Distant. His eyes were permanently bloodshot, it seemed. Though he had a nice figure. Tall, lean, well groomed with a head of dark brown hair. He was also older. Perhaps that was what made the attraction grow; older men were her weakness.

Now, he had been visiting the diner for nearly two months at this point. The conversation had started off harmlessly enough. He always sat in her area, which meant she was the only waitress he knew from the place, and that suited the rest of the girls just fine. But he was interesting, sometimes. He usually had a copy of the _Prophet_ with him, which he seemed to read religiously, and he liked his coffee as bitter as she could make it. Odd that he didn't drink tea, and when she asked, he claimed it wasn't enough to keep him awake at night. Maybe that was why his eyes were so red; it seemed like he never slept.

Regardless, from that mundane conversation started a series of new ones, after he began asking her what she thought of the front page news. Most of it had to do with the Ministry, and Deidre had a firm stance on them; they were bloody useless. Letting all these Muggle lovers get into power positions and start changing laws that had been in place for countless generations... Bah. However, her ability to converse on an intellectual level was lacking, and she usually felt stupid when the two of them talked. In fact, he had called her brainless several times, and insinuated that she had air for brains on other occasions, but her opinions always seemed to make him laugh. Now, it might have been _at_ her, not _with _her, but she didn't mind. It was so rare that he laughed, and she took it whenever he did.

Two months of this, and sometimes the conversations had flirtatious undertones, sometimes they didn't. The man was so difficult to read, but she thought that was part of the fun. There was nothing particularly out of the ordinary about their relationship. It grew just like any other time when people got to know each other, and took its own course. Sometimes he would stay until closing time, when she had to kick him out or threaten to cut off his caffeine supply. Not really a threat, since he could get it anywhere, but it usually worked. He kissed her one night. Just on the cheek, but that was more than enough to make her blush. That was two weeks ago. Since then, she stopped kicking him out when she needed to lock down the diner and do a final cleaning. She let him sit and watch until they both had to leave, and from there he would walk her back to her street. Never to her home, but to the front of her lane, and he would watch her walk down until she was inside. He pretended he didn't, but she usually caught him in her window reflection, standing still with his hands in the deep pockets of his lengthy black coat, a stern expression on his face.

But tonight he was late. In fact, the last of her customers had just left, and the other girl who was working in the back kitchen was checking out for the night. She signed her time card that she had left a half an hour later than she actually did, but Deidre wasn't about to tattle on her. Everyone did it, after all. With a somewhat cross expression on her face, Deidre figured he wasn't coming. It was a Monday. Why wasn't he here? He hadn't said anything about it, so there were no excuses. She loosely tied her thick hair back in a ponytail as she grabbed the broom from under the counter and began her usual routine of sweeping under the cupboards and whatnot. It was amazing how much dust and grim could accumulate over the course of a single day...

The glass door to the diner was flung open violently, and Deidre straightened up from behind the counter, flinching as he slammed it shut behind him. So he was coming after all. She placed a hand on her hip, an eyebrow raised, "You know I can't serve you this late. The till is locked-"

She shut up when he pushed a chair into its proper place at the table harshly, a snarl on his lips. At that point, she eased off, sensing that this was not the man she was used to. Even on nights when he was irritated, he never seemed this bad. He crossed the space between there and his usual spot with relative speed, and she leaned the broom against the counter, rustling up a coffee on the house. No one would notice, anyway. When she set it down in front of him, he glared moodily down at the table. His cheeks were whipped red from the harsh winter winds, but his knuckles were white.

"What's wrong?" she asked finally after several moments of rather stony silence. His eyes flicked up to hers briefly, blue meeting brown and red, and he let out a lengthy sigh.

"I... met up with an old acquaintance tonight," he informed her, his large hands wrapped around the mug securely, no doubt taking in its warmth, "and it was frustrating, to say the least. Stubborn old idiot..."

"Ah," she mused, nodding her head empathetically, "I see. Did something go wrong?"

He took a small sip, wincing momentarily, and then set the mug back down, "I suppose you could put it like that."

"I can't help you if you won't elaborate for me," she chuckled, grasping the broom once again and resuming her sweeping duties.

"I didn't come here for your help, you twit."

"Now now," Deidre chided, shaking her head at him as if he were a child, "there's no need for name calling because you are feeling sour."

She piled the dirt up neatly in her usual spot, and began work on the floor in front of the counter, which was always somewhat messier than behind it. People always trudged in dirt from Merlin knows where, and it was usually pretty bad in the winter. He glared at her irritably from his seat, a look that she ignored as she maneuvered the awkwardly large broom around a chair leg. Finally, he turned around fully to engage in conversation again, "I went in looking for a job, you see, and I was denied it."

"Oh."

"And I'm perfectly qualified... better than any of the other intellectually stunted morons who take up the position after their predecessor dies. Yet I was denied."

"Well, did he give a reason?"

"My current... activities bother him, among many other reasons. We were never really on good terms."

"I suppose one day you will have to reel in that pungent sense of modesty and grovel for a job if you really want it," she stated playfully, glancing at him over her shoulder. "I think you need to learn how to suck up to people. You know... make them feel all important and whatnot. You have this knack for making people feel about the size of my foot."

Which was pretty small. His retort to that was a rather loud snort, which made her look back at him properly and smiled, "What's so funny?"

"The way you speak to me," he replied, shaking his head. "Not a care in the world if something you say might offend me, or upset me."

"I thought I could be honest with you," Deidre remarked. "There's no harm in that."

"Some might think so."

"Well, I'm not one of them."

"You should be."

"And why is that?"

He withdrew a folded newspaper from his large cloak and set it down on the counter, "Come here and I'll show you why."

Sighing, she leaned her broom against the side of a booth, and then returned to the counter, leaning on it beside him as she gazed down at the headline.

**YOU-KNOW-WHO STRIKES AGAIN!**

_Minister reports harsher punishments for radical followers._

She went on to further read the article, or tried to anyway, but he pulled it away and folded it up once again. With pursed lips, she gave him a once over, and then arched an eyebrow, "Well. You aren't the Minister... We may be in the middle of nowhere, but I do know what he looks like. So are you a radical follower of Britain's most recent madman?"

"You think he is a madman?"

"I don't know what I think," she replied absently, still looking at him as he in return studied her just as closely, "but I think we need someone to keep pushing for pureblood rights in a soft Ministry. He is radical, but I don't think his message is misguided."

He chuckled softly as he rolled his eyes, "Now now, we know that you and I cannot discuss politics. Your twenty whole years of life keeps the conversation from being equal."

"Well, I can still have an opinion," she snapped. "But don't change the subject. Who are you on the front page?"

She had asked his name dozens of times over the course of their developing relationships, and he usually gave her silly pet names she could call him, but never a firm answer. Her friends insisted that he was a married man, and by not giving his name, he was keeping his secret safe from a possibly overweight and overbearing wife at home. Ridiculous, but some days it seemed to make sense.

Deidre waited for a full minute, while he sat silently in front of her with an expression that appeared as if he was pondering a response to her question. With a huff, she turned away to resume her cleaning tasks. However, he stopped her and tugged her back with a rough pull on her arm, causing her to stumble slightly. When she met his gaze, she was standing very close to him, their faces mere inches apart.

"I'm not the Minister," he whispered, "nor am I a radical follower... but according to you, I _am_ radical. Use the laws of deduction, Deidre, and you'll know who I am."

But the only person left... The woman wrenched herself free from him and took a few steps back, "No... No, that's... ridiculous."

"I know a man in this village... a hermit who likes to perfect illegal and dangerous charms," he informed her, slipping off his chair to his feet. "That's why I'm always here, you see. Genius man, until his worth dries up, I suppose."

The man before her, the one saying he was one of the most radical political and social figures of the decade, did a little spin for her, arms out as though he was showing himself off to her, "So what do you think, Deidre? Are you going to watch what you say to me now?"

Her forehead creased slightly as she thought about it, eyes on the floor. When she looked up, she still saw the same man who came in three times a week for endless amounts of coffee. He was the same fellow who kissed her on the cheek, and told her when she looked nice (and when she didn't). He was the same man who tipped wonderfully each time, despite her insistence not to, and he was still the same fellow who made those three days of the week worthwhile most of the time. She swallowed thickly, and then shook her head, "No."

He then smiled a smile for her that she barely understood, and probably never would as long as she lived. With that, he returned to his coffee, and soon complained that it had gone cold, and would like another one before he left.


	2. You know the rules, you know the game

_**FLASHBACK – 1972**_

"Deidre, where is my bowtie?"

This was a sight most unbecoming for a man of his standing. Elbows deep in a rather messy drawer of clothes, the Dark Lord, formerly known as Tom Marvolo Riddle, dug deep in search of the elusive black bowtie that was to complete his suit for the night's activities. The rest of his appearance was perfectly tailored to represent his image. Slicked back hair, circa 1940, and a fitted suit, tailored to perfection by a woman who professed to have very little knowledge of "Muggle" arts like sewing and stitching... Voldemort, as few would dare call him, looked perfect; it was always a wondrous thing when the outer and inner perfections matched one another. Now, don't misunderstand his intentions; he was not a man who usually cared for his outer appearance. No, he had always been attractive, and had to do very little to control his looks as he aged. However, on a night like tonight, he always wanted to seem at his very best.

Tonight, he and his wife of two months were attending a banquet that was to be thrown at the Malfoy Manor. The overall theme of the party was there to celebrate the engagement of a young Lucius Malfoy to Narcissa Black, who was in her final year of school. From what he gathered through the gossip sprig, anyway. Most of it he heard from Deidre, who seemed to have an ear for these things when she met with other wives of his inner circle. The party was being held this December 26th because Narcissa was home from school. That's what the guise was. Beneath it, they were using is as a means of recruiting more wealthy men to join Voldemort's urgent cause, and contribute some sort of funds toward the success of this mission. He had done this sort of thing many times before; attending galas, and using his incredible gift of speech to persuade men to join his team for the betterment of wizard-kind. It usually didn't take much; there would already be a rather hefty amount of men there who were either marked beneath their sleeve, or had professed an endearing amount of support in these difficult times.

Although he hated to admit it, these things had gotten easier once Deidre started coming with him. She was a natural in the spotlight, and always had something to say to whoever was standing within a foot of her. He, on the other hand, sometimes had to force the words out, all the while wanting to wrap his hands around the individual's throat and squeeze the life out of them. People were frustrating, what could he say? Regardless, Deidre made it look effortless, and his supporters fell in love with her the first time he brought her out. She had the charm, poise and intelligence of a pureblood woman –why not, considering her background – and she made the seamless transition between waitress to his companion. She quickly befriended the women, ever one for the gossip of the inner and outer circles of supporters, and charmed the men with a twinkle and bat of her eye. There were days when he found her social persona irritating, which was why he usually spent a great deal of their time at these gatherings away from her, but when she was home she resumed back to her normal, calm self. Here she always had something to say as well, but never in the obnoxious manner that she coined to blend in with the older women at the parties. Quite an actress, she could be.

He had no intentions of marrying her, you know? Not that he would have given her up, either, as she was one of the only people in this world that he found could balance him out when the time called for it, but he had no plans to marry her. No, they could continue sharing a home and remaining loyal to each other – well, her to him, anyway – without going through the unnecessary ceremony of marriage. Nothing changes afterward; it's merely a title and a formality. However, the way his supporters acted with this new "family" image that he was creating... Well, one could say it was positive. He opened up his demographic of those that offered their loyalty. Perhaps Deirdre made him more relatable. Whatever the reason, he married her to amplify it. He wasn't in love; she was, but he couldn't bring himself to give in to such weak emotions. No, he valued her, appreciated her beauty, and knew that he could not find someone that fit him so well. She was just intelligent enough to entertain him, but not so to challenge him. She looked good standing next to him, supported every motion he made wholeheartedly now, and quickly learned what did and did not please him.

"Deidre?" he called once more, glaring down at the unkempt drawer. "Are you listening to me?"

"Here," she sighed as she strode into the room, her heels clacking noisily on the hardwood floor, "it was sitting in the bathroom."

Pulling his arms free from the mess, he slammed the drawer closed and turned back, stopping as she slipped up beside him and began popping up his collar to set the accessory in place. He could have easily concocted a proper bowtie through magic, but she always argued that doing it this way was more intimate and personal. She could never actually _do_ it correctly though, which meant two minutes after she finished, he would pause by a mirror and fix it.

"Lucius is very excited you are coming to his home tonight," she stated absently, her fingers maneuvering the tie with ease. "Apparently he hasn't stopped talking about it."

"Oh?"

"Bellatrix says he's found lots of relatives on her side to come tonight, many who are interested in our Cause," she admitted as she finished the bow, then smoothed the fabric over his shoulders, picking at it for dust and whatnot.

He smirked; Bellatrix loathed Deidre. She was one of the few people who did, and although she put on an extremely good show for his wife, he knew the dark girl better than she gave him credit for. He always enjoyed himself watching the pair in a private conversation; Deidre blissfully unaware as Bellatrix forced a disgusted look from her face. Ah, the politics of women.

"I can only hope they are the sort I want," he replied after a moment or so, and then moved toward the mirror by the closet to fix her latest handiwork. She cocked her head to the side behind him, smoothing down the front of her emerald green dress. The front was high, just as he liked, but the back of it dipped nearly down to her hips, highlighting one of his favourite parts of her body. She picked it up while they were in France last month; she shopping, he parlaying with French spies within their Ministry.

"I can't understand why you _need_ any of them, you know?" the redhead mused after another moment of silence. She turned on her heel and marched over to their bed, where she picked up her thick black coat and slipped her arms into it."They should come crawling to you... not you to them."

"I hardly crawl, Deidre," he remarked, shooting her a look in the mirror. "My men find those that have expressed an interest in our work, and I pick through them like cattle until I find the one I'd like to burn. It's all for me, in the end."

"I suppose."

Ignoring her last remark, he too grabbed his coat and threw it on. He then grabbed her by the upper arm and dragged her in close, eliciting a soft gasp in surprise. The colour in her cheeks rose, but he could only see it for a moment. Soon, they both were hurling from their shared home in Dover to young Lucius Malfoy's new home in Wiltshire. His feet connected with the stone walkway soundly when they arrived, and Deidre clutched to him, taking a moment or two to regain her bearings. With that accomplished, she shot him a very clear look, one that indicated her frustration with him whenever he would drag her into a side-along without consulting her first. It drove her mad, and he shot her a charming smile to counter it, which predictably softened her expression.

"I wish you wouldn't do that," she snapped, wrapping her arm around his as they began a long march up the path to the ludicrously large Malfoy Manor.

"I know," he chuckled, inhaling the cold air deeply. "You had other plans on your mind before we left, did you not?"

Her jaw set firmly in reply, and she pointedly ignored his bemused expression. He knew _exactly_ what she had been feeling the moment he pulled her up close to him. She was young, and still enjoyed every ounce of physical attention he showered on her, when he felt like it. With a laugh, he picked up the pace, hurrying her along to the outrageous front doors of the garish building; he was eager to get the recruitment started.

* * *

This had to be one of the few things Deidre missed about living at home while she was by herself. Being part of that opulent pureblood hierarchy meant social gatherings, dinners and parties whenever they could be had. It was a way to show off their wealth and extravagance, and a way to advance up the social ladder. Now that she was back where she belonged, rightfully so, she never wanted to leave. She knew this scene was not the one her husband valued the most; no, he preferred quiet gatherings with a few close supporters and a glass of brandy, but he couldn't always be so picky. Rich friends, for lack of better wording, who adored him always wanted to throw lavish parties, each outdoing the last in an attempt to earn his favour. Naturally, this meant she too was spoiled to no end, though part of her knew that they were only buttering her up so that she would put a good word in for them. Sometimes she did, but most of the time she let him pass his own judgment; he was much better at seeing through people than she could ever hope to be.

That was what he was doing right now, and what he had been doing for hours, it seemed. They had arrived at Lucius Malfoy's home at around 9 pm, and it was drawing close to midnight now. The last time she saw her husband was when he was being marched off by a group of young hopefuls, Lucius among them, to introduce him to some benefactors from Scotland. Meanwhile, Deidre had spent the night flitting between groups of women and children. There were many that she preferred to talk to over others, like Elizabeth Burke and Eldora Black, but as usual she made time for everyone. Also, as usual, Bellatrix Black hovered some distance away from the Irish lass for as long as she could, but Deidre found her eventually, and roped her into conversation. The woman had no idea why the other was so opposed to her, seeing as Bellatrix wholeheartedly fell behind her husband on ever occasion, despite her youth and freshness to the Death Eater regime. Deidre was determined to get on her good side, no matter what it took.

It was from Bellatrix that she was directed to Narcissa, her younger sister. The girl had been paraded around all night by her mother, who still thought this celebration was to honour Lucius and Narcissa, but Deidre had yet to talk to her. She had only watched from a distance, and noted the somewhat pained expression on the girl's face every time her mother dragged her away from a conversation with someone who appeared to be her friend in order to introduce her to someone a little older. She was a lovely girl, certainly. Slender, blonde, high cheekbones like her sister... She, like Deidre, fit the mold of the traditional pureblood girl. No wonder Lucius had been married off to her; they seemed like a perfect match.

Lucius, despite his arrogance, was one of Deidre's favourites. Yes, he was only eighteen and fresh out of Hogwarts the year before, but he was such a delight because of it. There were so many old, stuffy men that served under her husband, and it was always refreshing to spend an evening with someone who understood her pop culture references the first time around. At first, she was sure Lucius only hung around her as often as he did to garner her praise, but as he managed to work his way into the inner workings of her husband's regime, she noticed he was less tense and false in her presence; when he knew that he didn't _have_ to impress her every time they spoke, he became much more genuine, which she always enjoyed. Therefore, because of her slight affection toward the young Death Eater, she took it upon herself to check out his future wife. Not that she could do anything about their pairing if she did not approve, but she liked to think she had some influence over it, if the only reason being her friendship with the groom.

As she stepped into the dining hall, which was full of people, she noticed a few heads turn. Many liked to engage her in conversation when she entered a room, and most of the talk centred on her husband. While all the other ladies liked to gossip about their spouse, Deidre never uttered a single word regarding hers. She participated in conversation, laughed when appropriate, and gave whatever advice that seemed to fit the situation, but she knew her husband would be furious if she revealed anything about him to the other women. So, to avoid the predictable conversations, she moved through the groups of people, keeping her gaze straight ahead as she searched for Narcissa. Her black heels were starting to make her feet sore, but she pushed through, knowing that they would probably only be here another hour or so. When she finally spotted the girl she was looking for, there was immediate pity. Narcissa was standing next to her rather boisterous mother and surrounded by a group of older ladies, all of whom were giving the young girl a once over as she had her hair constantly fixed. Her expression was restrained, to say the least, at which point Deidre deciding some rescuing was in order.

"Ladies," she interjected smoothly, causing Narcissa's mother, Druella, to flinch at the abrupt interruption, "might I steal the guest of honour for just a moment?"

The older woman grinned as Deidre placed a hand on the lower part of Narcissa's back, and nodded, "Oh, by all means!"

Druella's focus shifted to Narcissa, and her eyes narrowed a touch, "Behave yourself, dear."

"Of course, mother," the girl replied immediately, her voice melodic, yet firm. She was a sharp contrast to her darker sister, who had a slight rasp to her voice, suggesting that she was a smoker in private. Deidre smiled pleasantly at the group of women, then began walking Narcissa over to the lengthy table near the side of the hall, one that was lined with sweets and drinks and everything in between.

"You looked like you could use some rescuing," Deidre stated when they stopped in front of the punchbowl. "Mothers are so trying sometimes."

There was a slight pause, in which she felt Narcissa simply staring at her. She turned her head to the side, and when the pair of similar light blues eyes met each other, Narcissa quickly looked down and cleared her throat, "Yes... they can be. Thank you."

"I always found," Deidre started, grabbing a glass and filling it with bright pink punch, "that there are ways to make evenings like this tolerable."

As slyly as she could manage, she dumped in the entirety of a shot glass of vodka, ones that were premade and simply out for the taking, into the glass. Giving the glass a swirl to make sure things were mixed, she handed it to Narcissa, who accepted it quickly, "It'll make conversations less painful, I promise."

The blonde grinned and took a tentative sip, and upon deciding that she liked it (or she was trying to please Deidre), she took another slightly larger one, and then licked her lips.

"Thank you," she murmured. "I don't know why I didn't think of this earlier."

"It's hard to do with people scrutinizing your every movement," Deidre commented, noting that a few people nearby were watching the two of them and whispering. "I know a little bit about what that feels like."

Narcissa nodded, taking another sip, and at that point Deidre wondered whether or not she was reserved, like many girls at these things were, or if she was shy. Regardless, she seemed polite, put together, and adequate at understanding her role in social situations like this one. She arched a red eyebrow, "You know, Lucius and I have grown into friends over the past few months... I should like to think that the two of us can do the same."

"I hope so," the girl replied quickly, nodding her head. Deidre smiled, and then began fixing herself a drink. It was alcohol free, and with good reason.

She wasn't exactly sure yet, but she had a sinking suspicion that she was pregnant. She was two weeks late for her last period, but she was sticking it out and hoping that it would still come. No morning sickness yet, but apparently it took a little more time to kick in. She hadn't had a chance to see a doctor yet, mostly due to the busy holiday schedule that she and her husband had been following. Speaking of her husband... Out of the corner of her eye, she spotted the entrance to a dimly lit room, in which she could see the back of her husband's head as he sat on a rather bright red couch in front of the fireplace. He was alone, and the room was empty; he wanted to leave. When his patience grew thin with crowds of people, everyone could tell, and he usually ended up sitting somewhere by himself until Deidre found him. He was generally lost in thought when she did manage to locate him, and usually needed a few more minutes after her suggestion to go before actually getting up.

"Congratulations on your engagement," Deidre said finally, shooting the girl another grin. "I look forward to see how beautiful you look as a bride."

Narcissa thanked her again, and Deidre swept off toward the vacant room, stopping only once to grab a glass of red wine from the table. It was better for him than brandy or gin, which were his usual haunts. Her highheels were much more apparent as she entered the room, but he hardly acknowledged her presence until she was settled down right next to him, the glass extended.

"What's this?"

"Wine," she replied, nodding to his empty glass, "I noticed you were running low."

"So you decided not to replace my drink, but fetch me one that I don't like instead?"

"You do like it," she stated, recalling his love for wine while they were briefly in Italy. "Don't lie."

He was grumpy. Tired, and testy, no doubt, and was simply looking to take it out on someone. She would prefer that he didn't do it on her, but there was no way she could control which way his mood would swing.

"Have you been having a good time?" she asked as he accepted the glass.

"Adequate."

"Are you ready to leave?"

"Soon."

"All right."

She shifted closer to him, and he rested his arm on the back of the couch, allowing her to gingerly lean against him in front of the dying fireplace. They sat together in silence for a good five minute, he sipping the wine and she watching the flames flicker in the fireplace. It was then that their peace was interrupted by the scream of a baby, causing Deidre to flinch at the sudden intrusion. Both looked back behind the couch, and a rather frazzled looking woman stared back at the entrance of the room, her eyes widening a touch, "Oh, I'm sorry, my Lord... I... I'm sorry!"

Wrestling with the shrieking child to get it into an easier position to handle, she skirted out of the room quickly, the noise easing off as she left. Her husband rolled his eyes irritably and shook his head, "That has to be one of the most grating sounds..."

"What, a baby crying?" Deidre inquired, raising her eyebrows, "It's one of the most natural sounds of mankind."

"Hardly makes it any less shrill and bothersome," he sniped in reply, shaking his head. "I cannot understand why people would want them... beyond a procreative standpoint."

She swallowed, "You... You don't want children?"

He snorted rather loudly, which was followed by another sip, "What, by any stretch, makes you think I would want them?"

"But-"

"No," he snapped, looking down at her. "There is no rational or logical reason for me to have children... not with my plans for the future. I don't need them, or want them."


	3. Mama Mia, here I go again

_**FLASHBACK – 1975 **_

Delivering a child was nothing like Deidre had expected. It was... disgusting. No one had prepared her for the amount of blood, among other things, that she would see when she looked between her legs when the whole ordeal was finished. The pain was varied over time; sometimes it was like she was being split in two, and yet sometimes she felt like it ought to be hurting more. With all the fuss that some women made over it, she thought she was going to venture toward death and back again, but somehow it didn't exactly live up to their memories.

Yes, this was three years later than her first pregnancy scare. She had, in fact, become pregnant three years prior. Her husband was irate when he found out, and wouldn't speak to her properly for months, it seemed. Although he never openly expressed why he was livid with her, a part of her understood exactly why he might have been. He wasn't ready to be a family man, nor did he really express any interest in becoming a father at any point in his life. Their relationship had turned decidedly frosty while she was pregnant, although four months into it he finally softened, only a touch, to inquire how she was feeling. Scared. Alone. Worried. That was how she had been feeling. With her husband shunning her, she had found it increasingly difficult to get his followers, male or female, to entertain her company. However, it didn't need to last for long. Five months into the pregnancy, when her dearest had decided on naming the boy Armand (a name she thought too stuffy for what should be a lovely baby boy), she lost it. A miscarriage, as it were, and just like that the drama of having a child was gone. Although Deidre was never overly excited about becoming a mother, she was privately devastated at the loss of what could have been something wonderful. Her husband remained decidedly somber on the issue. The way he treated her afterward for a while insinuated he thought her too weak to carry a child.

She couldn't decide which was worse; the anger he felt toward her for being pregnant, or the shame he felt afterward that she couldn't properly carry a child to term, while women around her were popping out children like wildflowers.

Regardless of which was worse, the married couple settled back into a routine that was vaguely familiar to the one they shared before she became pregnant. Her husband became busier and busier with his mission to overthrow the Ministry, something that she continued to throw her support behind whenever she could. There were more people following the Cause now, and Deidre wondered sometimes just how many people her husband, the Dark Lord, was going to accept. Not many of them received his special sign of acceptance – a brand on their forearm with a magical insignia – but most strived to attain it. He had never offered it to her, and she never asked for one. She did not work for him, so there was no reason for her to have such a mark on her pale flesh.

Her relationship with the Malfoys had become strong over the past few years. She had already been quite attached to Lucius, something that her husband strangely encouraged, and over time, she and Narcissa became just as close, if not closer. Her friendship with the younger blond infuriated her sister, Bellatrix, and Deidre was well aware now of her hatred toward the Irish lass. There was nothing she could do to quell it, and although she had complained to her husband about the rude way the Lestrange woman occasionally addressed her with, the man had a ridiculous soft spot for the woman, and usually dismissed her claims.

Bella's hatred aside, Deidre and Narcissa became fast friends. They were similar in mannerisms and personality, though Narcissa was a touch more reserved than Deidre had ever been. They traveled together, went out together, and she was usually the first one Deidre looked for at social gatherings. The blonde had also expressed her concern with her inability to become pregnant. Although three years, basically the same length of time that she and her husband had been married, barely seemed like a long time, her family was constantly inquiring when children would be on the way. They had been trying for years, it seemed, and nothing was happening. They researched countless different methods to help speed the process along, and had consulted a variety of different healers on the subject, but no one could figure out why it wasn't happening. Neither were barren, thankfully, but something just wasn't working. Lucius too had shared his frustration with her, in private only, and she truly felt for the couple.

However, that didn't stop her from falling pregnant again, much to her dismay. They were always careful to ensure there were no surprise pregnancies, but over the Christmas holiday between this year and the last, all precaution was thrown out the window. Her husband returned home after spending three months in central Europe, and when he did, he barely had time to set his luggage down before Deidre had pounced on him. She had missed him terribly while he was gone, despite his sometimes distant demeanor toward her, and she couldn't stand a moment of space any longer. Although he had been somewhat tired from traveling, he had seemed genuinely pleased to see her again, and took her on a table in their entrance hall without any restraint.

Unfortunately, when her period was missed in January, she knew what had happened. Although fucking with wild abandonment was probably her favourite form with her husband, it also meant they were less cautious. Worried about what it would do to their marriage for a second time, Deidre debated whether or not she should tell him, but somehow he knew something was wrong with her, and eventually managed to drag it out. Although he was upset again, he was not quite as livid. Their companionship frosted once again, though only for a few weeks, and this time she had Narcissa to confide in. Their friendship was strong enough that although her husband's master was not speaking with Deidre, she still would.

This time around, Deidre was extra safe with everything she did. The baby was a boy, yet again, and her husband told her that the name he had previously picked with be satisfactory once again. Armand. Bah. It sounded like some old European tosser who sat at the back of a bar in Italy and watched the young girls dance, wishing he was still their age. He knew that she wasn't completely pleased with the name, but she never complained outwardly about it. And while Narcissa was supportive one hundred percent of the time, she sometimes noted that the younger woman had a glint of jealousy in her eye when she looked down at Deidre's swollen midsection.

Her husband was somewhat more attentive this time around, with the occasional foot rub and cooking that he did for her when she was having a bad day. Perhaps he loved her more now than he did during their first year of marriage, who knew, really? However, this pregnancy felt right. Unfortunately, when it was time for her to delivery, the child was nearly five whole days late. She had never felt so ridiculously huge and uncomfortable, and to make matters worse, her husband was in Portugal at the time. Even though he knew she was supposed to be having the baby, he still went away to consult with some wizards down there, leaving her by herself to deal with all this. Naturally, they had a private healer to come in and help her deliver, and Narcissa was holding her hand the whole time, standing quite far away from the actual birthing mess, but she had still wished her husband would have been there.

However, she had enough company after the baby was born to last her a lifetime. Her husband was gone for nearly a month, and had yet to see the child, and yet there had been hordes of people in to congratulate her. Naturally, they were disappointed when her husband was nowhere to be found, but they put on a good face and left her gifts abound. Some of the people she was closer to, such as the Malfoys and the Burkes, were around frequently to help out with the baby, and even suggested hiring a house elf so that she could keep her sanity. Her sanity would have been just fine, thank you, if her husband had been home. He wrote to her, thankfully, and had asked about baby Armand, and did seem a bit frustrated that his trip was taking long than expected. However, words were meaningless unless he put some oomph into them.

Armand, on the other hand, was a darling. He was a rather quiet baby, so quiet sometimes she forgot he was even in the room. He was the spitting image of his father, from his dark eyes to the tuft of thin brown hair on his head. At this point, he was just starting to smile more and gurgle at her whenever she did something that seemed to please him, which always ended up making her feel content when she was in a particularly sour mood. Mothering hadn't come naturally to her, but it wasn't all that difficult to pick up. Keep your baby happy. Stimulate his developing mind. Check for unpleasant surprises before leaving the house. That was basically her personal code to parenting. Countless women had been to see her to offer advice about the baby, no doubt sent by their husband to earn more favour from the new mother, but she usually only smiled and nodded along. Narcissa was usually the one who came up with the good ideas for how to fix things, from crying to silent phases, and somehow the young girl was usually dead on. She was simply destined to be a mother, and Deidre never thought twice about leaving Armand in her company if she needed to go out and do something... Even if that sometimes meant just to breathe.

October 10th, 1975, her husband finally returned home, nearly a month and a half after Armand had been born. She hadn't been expecting him, of course. In fact, Deidre let out a shocked breath of air when she heard the door to their home slam shut from Armand's room on the second floor. There was the dropping of what appeared to be bags, and then heavy footsteps that thundered up the staircase down the hall. Armand was in his crib, on his back and somewhat distressed that she had stepped away from his line of sight. She had been entertaining him with a spoon, something he found ridiculously amusing in all its shiny glory, and the further she walked from the crib, the more distressing the tone of his incomprehensible chatter sounded. However, she put that out of her mind momentarily, and stepped into the hallway, spoon in hand, and felt herself weaken a touch as her husband strolled down the hallway.

His dark eyes met hers, and neither smiled. Instead, he stopped in front of her, silent, and she watched as he gave her a once over. Clad in one of his less formal shirts and nothing more, she was hardly dressed properly to welcome him home, but he didn't seem to mind.

"I'm glad you didn't keep all that pregnancy weight," he said finally, his voice music to her ears, despite its patronizing ring. Before she could stop herself, her right hand came up, and she slapped him as hard as she could across the face. The sound of the slap resonated in the hall loudly, and for a moment he glared at her so furiously that she swore he'd rip out his wand and strike her down within seconds. However, the moment passed, and his expression changed to something of amusement, and he slid his arms around her waist, pulling her closer, "It was a joke, Deidre."

"Well..." she snapped, her voice quivering as he kissed the side of her head, "It was hardly funny. Or appropriate!"

He chuckled softly in her ear, and her body relaxed against his, and although she was angry with him for being gone so long, and commenting on her weight the first time they saw each other, she still loved him with every ounce of her being. Her arms wrapped around his neck as she dragged herself up into a hug, which he returned, although not as tightly as she clung to him. He loosened her grip on him, and then frowned, "What is that?"

"A spoon," she sighed, holding up the offending object, which must have touched the skin on his neck to grab his attention. "Armand thinks it's fascinating."

"Speaking of which," he started, staring at the spoon for a moment longer than necessary, "I would like to see my son."

"I think he'd like to see you too," she remarked, a smile spreading across her lips as she grasped his hand. There was an expression on his face that she couldn't quite read, which was odd because she was one of the few people that could read every twinge of facial expression like it was blatantly obvious. As they entered the nursery, he looked around, but remained silent, a message that he was remotely pleased with the way she and Narcissa had styled it. She slowed down once they got closer to the crib, and allowed him to approach it unaccompanied. For a moment he simply stared down into it, and she heard Armand rustle about beneath the gaze.

"He has your eyes," she commented after a few minutes of silence. Well, what used to be his eyes. They were constantly changing and becoming somewhat unrecognizable to what used to be brown and deep. However, whenever she wanted to see those eyes now, all she had to do was look at their son, and that was that.

He reached down into the crib and placed a finger on the baby's cheek. Armand had watched him curiously and rolled a little into the touch, still quiet in front of his father.

"Pick him up," he instructed softly, eyes still on the baby. Deidre stepped forward and leaned down to scoop her arms gently beneath their son, and then picked him up, holding her close to her chest. He placed his hand on the back of the baby's head, still studying the little figure intently, and then she finally noticed him smile. It was only a small one, but it pleased her immensely just as much as if it was a huge one that lit up the room.

"He's probably the best looking boy I've seen," he stated finally, seeming to be proud of what was in front of him.

"Well, he is your son," Deidre chuckled. "How could he not be?"


	4. I work all night, I work all day

_**FLASHBACK – 1977 **_

"Hold my hand, Armand," Deidre ordered sharply, annoyed that the little boy couldn't walk by himself yet. Moodily, the two year old grasped hold of her last two fingers tightly, and trotted at her side, his two or three steps set to match her one. They were spending the day in Diagon Alley, as it was time to update the boy's room and small book collection, as well as pick up a few necessities for the home.

It was seldom that Deidre went into Diagon Alley by herself. Lately, some that were unsatisfied with her husband had made threats against her privately while she was out. Sometimes it was when she was alone, but Narcissa had been with her occasionally, and was equally shocked that some lowly member of Voldemort's regime would dare speak to her like that. It was usually a small group of people, some that perhaps thought they would make some leeway with her husband if they scared her into boosting them up in favour, but it had had the opposite effect. She waited as long as she could to tell her husband, and when she finally did, he was outraged. There was a sinking suspicion in her mind that he was more upset that there were potentially disloyal members of his party starting to act out, rather than the fact that she might have been in danger, but he didn't let on either way. Regardless, these fellows soon disappeared, the ones she knew by name, and the others had fallen back into their proper rank without complaint.

Still, her husband had insisted on giving her an escort, male or female, whenever she went out somewhere in public. He claimed it was for her protection, but she knew that he simply wanted someone else to catch people getting out of line. There was nothing wrong with trimming dead weight in his ranks, seeing as they had continued to swell over the past several years. It terrified his men to know that he killed indiscriminately for failure, but Deidre agreed wholly with her husband; a healthy dose of fear was necessary to keep everyone in line. She was secretly pleased that he hadn't taken this staunch approach when it came to raising their son. The boy was nearly two on this summery August day, and so far, her husband had proved to be a better father than he previously thought. He saw Armand as a student, it seemed, and was more than happy to teach him things. Naturally, it took the boy a little while to clue in to what was happening, but when he became fully aware of everything, her husband took charge.

When he was home, Voldemort managed to set aside some time to tell their son stories, much to her surprise. From the birth of Hogwarts, to the struggles of the four founders, to the Goblin Wars of the 4th century... that boy must have known the wizarding world's history backwards and forwards by the time he was able to talk. Well, somewhat talk. Her husband liked to think that the boy had more capability than he was showing, but his speech patterns developed normally, if only a touch earlier than some others his age. Her husband wanted Armand to be on an intellectual level that was miles ahead of where he actually was, and when he didn't quite live up to all the expectations, he seemed disappointed. Deidre tried her hardest to praise her son after his father walked out in a snit, but Armand seemed to grasp when his father was displeased with him, and would whine and whimper until he could go see the man again, and attempt to make him happy. Deidre was usually upset when this scene played out, but her husband tended to be pleased when the boy vied hard for his attention, and would occasionally give it to him. Couldn't overindulge him now.

He was a spoiled child, however. Armand was showered with gifts and praise whenever they went out with her husband's supporters. Death Eaters, she could call them now without a doubt, seemed to think that the new way to Voldemort's affection was through the newest member of their family. Armand was generally quite shy when he was in the public eye. When the three of them went to gatherings, which became less and less as the years went on, he clung to Deidre like she was going to leave him there and never come back. Voldemort stiffly accepted compliments on how handsome his son was, and what a bright young boy he was turning into whenever he opened his mouth and uttered an incomprehensible syllable.

With the numbers in his following growing, a tight inner circle had formed. Deidre was pleased that the Malfoy family fit quite neatly into it, and she and Narcissa were used to play hostesses when her husband arranged for meetings at the family home. It was rare that it happened, seeing as he preferred to keep the sniveling minions away from his private residence. However, on short notices, it made for the best meeting spot. The inner circle knew where it was, but they had been sworn to secrecy – or death – to keep it to themselves. As far as the rest of the masses knew, Voldemort and Deidre simply materialized out of thin air whenever they saw them, and then vanished again until the next time they were around.

This afternoon, late in August, Deidre had managed to persuade her husband that she no longer needed an escort. The threats had stopped for a few weeks now, and it felt like she was a burden whenever someone else had to take her out. Naturally, Voldemort could have easily taken her out in disguise, but he was usually less inclined to hide his progressively sinister outward appearance from the world. He was well known in all the papers and tabloids, as well as within the inner sanctums of the Ministry, but he wasn't willing to risk someone identifying him in public. No one would be stupid enough, of course, but there were a few crazies working for him, and while they always got the job done, they had to be watched. So, exceptionally public places like Diagon Alley were off-limits to him, which was a bit depressing, but he made it up to her by taking her to slightly more private hamlets and villages in Ireland for dinners and similar outings.

So, clad in a knee-length blue summer dress, a pair of little white flats, and a wedding ring hanging on a necklace around her slim neck, Deidre trekked down to Diagon, son in tow. Her lengthy and thick red hair was lopped up in a messy bun, and to any outside observer, she was a nobody... Just another mother doing a bit of shopping. The streets were filled with students. School was starting in a week or so, from what she remembered, and there was little doubt in her mind that there were countless flustered parents around shopping for last minute things their child _absolutely_ needed.

"Mummy," Armand said suddenly, coming to an abrupt halt in the middle of the street. A gaggle of girls hastily split to go around the pair, chattering quite obnoxiously to one another, as if they owned the very earth that they tread on. Deidre rolled her eyes and adjusted her shoulder bag, an eyebrow arched to inquire what he wanted.

"Toilet."

"Again?" Deidre inquired, a touch exasperated. Sure, he was proficient in going to the bathroom by himself now – thank Merlin – but he had the worst timing. She had spent nearly two hours on her feet already, half the time carrying her son around the busy streets, and all Deidre wanted to do was go home. However, his more than enthusiastic nod indicated that it was either go find a toilet somewhere, or he'd use the street. Devil child. She sighed noisily, and then picked him up, resting the boy on her hip as she darted across the street and into a busy little bakery. There was a sign that indicated public toilets at the back, and she hastily navigated through the line of people, then the sitting area, and finally made her way round toward the back of the establishment. The singular bathroom was occupied when she arrived, which meant she had to wait in the already established line of two people. Was it worth the wait? She wasn't quite sure how many other places would give public washrooms unless you were buying something, and at the moment, Deidre just wanted to get the boy on empty and then go home.

"Mummy," he whined again, this time a little louder. "Toilet!"

"We have to wait a minute, darling," she stated, shifting his weight to a more comfortable position as she leaned back against the wall. Two teenagers had come to join her in line, though she barely paid them any mind. Her main focus was on willing the person in the bathroom to hurry the Hell up. It seemed to work, if only momentarily, as the line in front of her had whittled down to one person. Excellent. Suddenly, the girl behind her let out a bit of a squeal, and she glanced back quickly, her eyes widening when she saw that Armand had grabbed a chunk of her bright red hair and proceeded to tug. The girl's friend, a skinny teen boy with dusty brown-blond hair gave a bit of a chuckle, and Deidre hastily grasped hold of her son's hand and pulled his fingers loose, "Armand! I've told you before not to do that!"

The boy gave a little laugh, though he silenced when her eyes narrowed. She addressed the girl for the first time, her face displaying something of an apologetic nature, "I'm sorry... He has a thing for long hair. Just can't resist giving it a pull, it seems."

"Same as my boyfriend then," the girl snorted, rolling her eyes. "Don't you think, Remus?"

The boy shrugged, seemingly more shy than his friend, and the girl grinned, "He knows better than to say anything bad about his best friend... The retaliation is usually humiliating."

Deidre forced a laugh, then stepped forward as the fellow in front of her went into the bathroom, leaving her next in line. Armand was growing more fidgety by the passing seconds, and when she heard the toilet flush from behind the door, she breathed a sigh of relief. The door opened, the gentleman stepped out, and just as she was about to step in, another somewhat tall and bulky bloke edged his way right in front of her to go in.

"Hey!" she snapped, glaring at him pointedly, "There's a line, you know?"

"Look, I'll take two seconds," was his rather articulate reply, which only caused Deidre's eyes to narrow further.

"Well my son doesn't have two seconds, so move," she hissed. He ignored the threat in her voice and simply shut the door in her face, which caused her to gasp in shock. Stupid, rude fuck. The girl behind her shook her head and rolled her eyes, similar to the way Deidre had done it earlier. Although the man had been true to his word – he was very quick – it was still completely shocking and just... inconsiderate! The burly fellow stepped out and walked past her, oblivious to the fact that he had been a total arse, only to end up falling flat on his face. She turned back quickly to see what had happened, and smirked when she saw that the redhead behind her had stuck her foot out and tripped the sod.

"I go myself!" Armand grunted, wriggling free from her arms and rushing into the vacant bathroom. She pulled the door shut enough to give him privacy as he began unzipping his little pants, then looked back at the girl. She shrugged, and the trio of the bathroom line watched as the fellow heaved himself up, then stalked away.

"Thank you," Deidre chuckled, folding her arms across her chest. "That was almost worth it."

"No problem," the girl grinned. "He deserved it. I'm Lily, by the way."

Deidre glanced down at the overly friendly girl's extended hand, and she gingerly shook it, "Deidre. Nice to meet you."

"Likewise. The silent one here is Remus."

She gave a nod to the boy standing behind her, who smiled back weakly. The door was suddenly pushed open, and Armand came strolling out, much more relaxed than he had previously looked. Deidre eyed him skeptically, and then arched an eyebrow, "Hands?"

"Washed."

"All right, let's get going then," she insisted, scooping him up once more. She gave the teens a once over, then a courteous head nod, "Again, nice to meet you."

Lily gave her a pleasant smile, and then stepped into the bathroom once Deidre was on her way out of the bakery. You met the oddest people when you ventured down into any of the Alleys, though you were sure to find weirder ones in Knockturn. Why her husband frequently it so often was beyond her understanding. Speaking of whom, it was nearly five o'clock, and she needed to get home and start making dinner. Despite the advice from various other pureblood socialities and whatnot, she and her husband had yet to hire a house elf, which meant she was left in charge of all the cooking and cleaning. It wasn't all that much, considering Voldemort was rarely home for the majority of the meals, and their house was not as obnoxiously big as other people had. It was easy to clean, so long as Armand was kept occupied. He had a tendency to try to pitch in, which usually only made things worse.

After a quick side-along back to their home – a task that always sent Armand weeping for a little while afterward – she was back inside and setting out the fruits and vegetables she had picked up from the market, and was then on her way to drop off the books she had picked up for both the males in her life. Her husband hadn't asked for anything, but she saw a book by his favourite fiction author that he didn't have yet, and figured it would be a nice surprise.

Little did she know, her husband had a surprise of his own. As she was setting the rather large novel down on his desk in his office, she felt something odd rub against the back of her ankle. Frowning, she looked down, then let out a horrified screech as a large, thick green serpent stared back up at her, tongue flicking out every so often. She leapt up onto his chair as the creature gave a loud hiss.

"Ah, you've found Nagini," her husband laughed from the doorway, Armand peering into the room from behind his legs. "Isn't she magnificent?"

Her husband adored all things serpent. They had countless roaming around the property outside, though none quite as big as this... Nagini. She knew of his connection to them, and his ability to speak to them, which had been passed on to Armand.

"She's..." Deidre trailed off, still clutching the back of his office chair as she gazed down at the snake, "very big. Much bigger than usual."

"Exactly why I purchased her," he remarked, strolling inside with their son at his heels. "I felt like she was the perfect addition to our home."

All Deidre could do was omit something along the lines of a very nervous laugh. She wasn't the biggest fan of snakes. They were... fine when they were easy to pick up and throw back outside, but this thing was a giant. A king among snakes. Or queen, as it were.

Her husband spoke to the snake in their own special language, something she obviously couldn't understand, and she frowned. The snake turned away, then began slithering back to her new master, hissing the whole way there. Voldemort chuckled loudly, "She says you're very pretty."

"How... nice," Deidre managed, slipping down from the chair and smoothing her hand down the front of her dress to regain her composure. Her husband gave Armand a nudge toward the snake, who began to get a feel for him by tasting the air around him. Deidre watched, her protective maternal instincts kicking in the closer her son got to the beast. However, a few tentative hisses from his mouth earned him a rather proud smile from his father, and when he sat down on the floor in front of Nagini, she was sure he would be safe. There was no way either of them would let anything happen to Armand, but she still worried when her husband introduced him to numerous snakes with varying degrees of venom.

She crossed the room to stand next to her husband, taking a wide circle around the snake. When she was eventually at his side, she noticed that he was paler than before. There were massive bags under his eyes, which were more bloodshot than usual, and he appeared exhausted. Touching his arm gently for his attention, she gave it a small squeeze, "Are you all right?"

"Fine," he replied, though his voice was distant. "She's very important to me, Deidre... to both of us. We must see that nothing happens to her."

"I'll do my best," she stated, sliding her arm around her husband's waist as he wrapped one around her shoulder. She wasn't particularly sure of the significance of the snake. Whether it had some sort of literal or figurative importance in his life hardly meant anything; he wanted it safe, and she would do what he wanted.


	5. See the wonder of a fairytale

**AUTHOR'S NOTE:**

I just wanted to thank everyone for the wonderful feedback I've gotten for this story. It really means a lot to me. I also wanted to say that the general formula of the story – paragraphs about what's been happening and then quick dialogue – won't last for the whole story. This is just how I'm writing the flashbacks, and it'll be more... story-esque later when we get to "present day" sort of stuff.

Anyway. Hope I can continue to entertain!

* * *

_**FLASHBACK 1978 **_

A girl. Deidre had never thought that she would have a second child, much less give birth to a girl that was welcomed by her husband. It was late in the month of December, and four days prior the redhead had given birth to a baby girl. Armand, now three, had not been as vocal as she would have liked when she asked whether or not he would like a little sister during the course of the pregnancy, and he was ever quiet still, only inspecting the baby from a distance. People always spoke about the older sibling being jealous of the new baby in the family, but it hardly felt like that.

Under the watchful gaze of his father, Armand had continued to grow into a soft-spoken and intelligent little boy. He knew the basic spells now; not how to do them, obviously, but how to say the names with relative accuracy, which pleased Voldemort to no end. He seemed quite set on making their son the most brilliant boy around, and sometimes Deidre felt like he wasn't getting a proper childhood in the process. Not that she would ever question her husband's parenting; it was good enough for her that he was making such an effort to be invested in the boy's life when he had some free time, which was more than she could say for some families in their social circle.

Armand adored his mother. She knew from the beginning that as much as he wanted to make his father proud, he usually lit up when Deidre was present. Her husband was... intimidating. He never spoke down to the boy to address him as a child, nor would he hide his displeasure in the boy's struggles with words or mobility. Deidre, on the other hand, mothered him the best she could, and much of that consisted of soothing his bruised ego after his father was finished with him. She wasn't a particularly nurturing woman, but she felt like she was doing the best she could with each passing day. It got easier, certainly, and her little boy was everything to her. He was still the centre of attention when supporters saw him, and many felt like it was a privilege when her husband brought Armand to their home, as though he felt like it was a secure enough place to put his offspring in. It was a ridiculous notion, surely, but there were so many ridiculous things that people did to make her husband feel like a god.

And he was a god. In her eyes, anyway. He was definitely the most powerful, the most intelligent and admittedly the most frightening wizard she had ever met. His physical appearance had changed so much over their six year marriage, but somehow she still found him appealing. The man was lean, with thin fingers and long limbs. His eyes were nearly completely bloodshot all the time now, and his skin had morphed into a yellowish hue that no amount of sun was ever going to change. Regardless of what might have been considered a slightly off-putting, Deidre continued to stay hopelessly in love with him. There were, of course, some days when she was absolutely furious with him, or annoyed to no end at his usually insulting banter, but those days were definitely outnumbered by the days that were considered enjoyable.

This pregnancy was not as difficult to manage, both as a person and as a couple, when compared to the last one. Everyone grew excited when they found out the Dark Lord's wife was pregnant with their second child, and this image that not only was he a powerful man, but a prosperous one building something of a dynasty began to form. When her husband grasped the beneficial nature of this extra title that he was building for himself, he eagerly awaited the arrival of their next child. Narcissa was still as close as ever, and had helped her change her husband's study into their new baby's room, while at the same time her husband moved into a much larger space in the basement. This new study soon became a weekly meeting place for his inner circle, a location to conduct business meetings with a few foreign wizards every so often, and a retreat when he was in particularly horrible mood.

The birthing of this child, a lovely girl with Deidre's bright blue eyes and her father's dark hair, was similar to the last. The only difference was that Voldemort had actually been present this time. Not in the room, as he had no interest in seeing any of _that_, as he so wonderfully put it, but he waited with Armand in his study. He had, however, placed Nagini in the room to watch over the healer and ensure nothing went wrong. At the time, she didn't give it a second thought over the strangeness of having a snake act as her protector against the seemingly innocent young healer. How could she? That giant snake had certainly become a part of the family over her first year living with them. Although it had bothered her at first, the snake's exceptionally gentle nature around her son warmed her heart. And sometimes, as strange as it was, the snake would sleep beside her in bed, coiled up in a giant, thick circular shape, and occupy her husband's side of the bed while he was away. It wasn't the same, but there were nights when she felt comforted having a presence sleeping beside her, and she would pretend he was home, instead of off doing Merlin knows what at some ungodly hour of the night to some unsuspecting person.

Narcissa had not been present this time around. It was a bit sad not to have her closest friend there holding her hand, but she and Lucius were on a holiday in Spain. Their parents had conned them into it under the guise of having a second honeymoon, but everyone knew that they had only been sent to have some uninterrupted baby-making time away from everyday stress. Her husband wasn't pleased that one of his inner circle would be away for a whole three weeks just to have continuous shagging, but Deidre had convinced him (or so she liked to believe) that if Lucius went away, managed to get Narcissa pregnant, and then came home, he would be a much happier and much more focused worker. Something to that degree, anyway.

When their daughter was born, and Deidre had been cleaned up, Voldemort kicked the healer out without thanks, and inspected the baby carefully. He seemed less impressed with her than he had been with Armand, but Deidre had to carefully remind him that babies were not that physically appealing just after they were born, and he would have to wait a while before she stopped looking like a wrinkly sac of skin. Armand didn't say much about his new sister, only that she looked a little funny, no doubt saying it to agree with his father. Regardless of their thoughts on her daughter, Deidre was immensely pleased with her. She was a darling little baby, though nameless. Deidre had argued that because Voldemort had named Armand, she ought to be allowed to name their daughter. He was hesitant at first, but after some careful cajoling, she managed to earn that right for herself. However, it was really difficult to name someone you hadn't met before, and so she spent months simply referring to her as 'she' or 'her', and it wasn't until four days after the baby was born that her husband insisted that she name the child something.

That was where they were now. The whole family was camped out in the nursery, enjoying the few moments of blessed peace that the baby was offering. She was certainly much louder than Armand had been, and a bit fussier, even at such a young age. Deidre was perched on a small stool next to the crib, resting herself against the white bars as she watched her new baby sleep soundly in her cocoon of little blankets. Voldemort was standing beside the fireplace, eyeing the walls of the room with annoyance; he still wasn't all that pleased that she and Narcissa had turned his old office into a little girl's fantasy room, complete with pink walls and clouds along the ceiling line. Armand, adorably enough, had fallen asleep at play, nestled into the lap of an obnoxiously giant pink teddy bear that Narcissa had had delivered a day or so ago as a joke.

"She cannot be nameless forever, Deidre," she heard Voldemort sigh from his position, a seemingly bored tone to his voice. "So if you don't pick something soon, I'll do it."

"Oh will you?" she mused, shooting him an amused look, "And what did you have in mind?"

"Can't tell you," he chuckled, leaning back against the wall and crossing his arms, "because it'll be such a perfect name... that any name you come up with afterward will seem inadequate in every way."

"Lovely, darling," she cooed sarcastically, rolling her eyes. "I'm pleased you have such faith in me."

"I have a lot of faith in you, Deidre," was his reply, "but you have to agree with me... Your slowness is taxing."

"I want it to be perfect! How can that be a fault?"

He sighed noisily; a sigh that she knew was a mixture of annoyance and amusement. It was one of her favourite sighs, because she knew it meant he was willing to play with her. The little girl in the crib stirred, though her eyes still remained shut, thankfully. Deidre leaned in and gently adjusted the blankets, then glanced back at Armand, who was also fast asleep. She heard her husband's footsteps stalk gently across the floor toward her, and her skin prickled when he placed a hand on her back, lightly running his fingers up and down. She remained motionless, only shifting her head slightly as his hand traveled further upward and began massaging the back of her neck. A content sigh slipped out, and she heard him chuckle.

"Keep focus, Deidre," he whispered in her ear, his lips brushing against it. "Don't want to be stuck here all night when we could be doing... other things."

"You're a tease," she murmured, leaning into his touch as much as he would allow before he pulled back, gazing down at her with that smug look he got whenever he aroused her without full intentions of making it worth her while. He was a tease, plain and simple, and he had no problem turning her on and then leaving her high and dry. Clearly not a normal man, but there was something of a thrill in getting him to completely finish what he started.

He leaned up against the crib beside her, his hand moving from her back to her hair, which he fiddled with absently while watching their daughter sleep. Deidre nibbled on her lip lightly, then glanced up at him, "I've had a name for a while, actually... Well, for the past day or so, and I think it's the one."

"Well?" he breathed, an eyebrow arched.

"Regan."

There was a pause, and she looked up at him. Her husband looked somewhat perplexed, clearly not in love with the name, so she figured further explanation was needed.

"It means 'the king's child', you know?" she stated, turning to face him completely and resting her hands on his waist.

"The king's child?"

He seemed a little more interested now, and Deidre pushed herself up into a standing position, resting her body against his, "The _king's_ child. Doesn't it seem fitting for you?"

The redhead grinned when he cocked his head to the side and wrapped his arms around her, "I think you know how to flatter me far too easily."

"One of my many talents, I'm sure you know," she mused, standing up on the tips of her toes to give him a quick kiss, which he happily accepted. "So? Do we like Regan?"

"We like being called a king," he replied coyly, hoisting her up so that she could wrap her legs around his waist. His hands cupped her backside neatly, and he gave her heated kiss.


	6. Our last summer

_**FLASHBACK 1979**_

Deidre appreciated the few moments of peaceful silence that her children occasionally allowed her. With Regan fast approaching a year old, and Armand now four, they were as rambunctious as ever. It was mostly Regan that instigated things; she was a boisterous little trouble-maker who had her father so far wrapped around her little finger that it seemed like she could do no wrong. Armand was steadily developing in the same direction as she thought he would; intellectual, soft-spoken and still shy in public. Regan, on the other hand, thrived on attention, and her husband's supporters were more than happy to appease her lust for the limelight. She liked to dance, throw her thin dark hair around, and sit on her father's lap when he wasn't discussing serious business. That little gem always earned Voldemort an arched skeptical eyebrow from his wife, which he pointedly ignored. Regan did not speak as well as her brother had been at her age, but she was pretty much at a normal pace in comparison to the other children her age. Well, she was a bit louder than children her age. She always wanted everyone to notice her, which made her interesting to go out with. Interesting in the sense that she completely dwarfed her older brother for people's attention, but also interesting in that she could make Deidre want to laugh and simultaneously rip her hair out at the same time.

However, today both were being kept busy by a house elf named Dobby. Narcissa had just purchased him, and brought him along for their tea date on an afternoon in late September. Armand was a little nervous about the house elf, but once Narcissa firmly explained that the creature was not to be respected, as it was lower than the lowest out there, he seemed a bit more at ease. Regan, on the other hand, found the creature's grotesque appearance to be hilarious, and leapt at it in an attempt to tug on its ears. With the children busy in Armand's room, Narcissa and Deidre had time to actually enjoy themselves and get down to business; gossiping about everyone within the ranks. It was totally teenage and immature, but sometimes it was necessary. Both women had been to so many functions where they were among some of the younger ones within the inner circle, and there were so many moments that made them want to burst out giggling over someone's ridiculousness, but they had to hold their composure for the sake of a public image.

As Voldemort became more inwardly focused on his mission, Deidre felt like it was her responsibility to connect with his followers. The inner circle didn't need that extra special attention, mostly because her husband made a habit of dropping in on their family homes for late night meetings. However, those that were not lucky enough to have that one-on-one time with him needed to have their egos soothed by Deidre, who always claimed he was busy, but wished them well, and other nonsense like that. He seemed to appreciate that she took the effort to do it, even if he never said anything that specifically indicated that. There was a vibe she got off him when they were out together, one that was both thankful and pleased that she took a strong initiative now with his supporters. Their numbers swelled, but after seven years of marriage, Deidre never felt like he sought to please the masses over his inner few. There were many that worked his propaganda angle, not just Deidre, which was a relief.

This was the farthest thing on her mind. When she was with Narcissa, she never had to pretend to be anyone. There were no expectations, and no forced conversation. Despite their slight age difference, they connected in a way that Deidre hadn't shared with anyone for ... well, most of her life. They both liked the same type of tea, with the exact amount of sugar and milk added, and they both enjoyed having a cinnamon cookie with each cup. Their dress style was also similar. Both women were clad in elegant knee-length dresses, Narcissa in blue and Deidre in a pale yellow, and their jewelry was minimal for a house date. Both had their wedding rings on, Narcissa's much flashier than Deidre's, and one other piece. Narcissa had elegant gold earrings in her ears, which were displayed with her lovely blonde hair swept up into a complicated braid. Deidre, on the other hand, had her red hair hanging loosely around her shoulders, and a delicate gold bracelet around her wrist. Her husband had picked it up on his recent trip to Dublin, during which he and a select few had apparently taken out an Auror safe-house in the downtown area. The details he gave her were limited, though he returned home with a bit of a limp, and a present. She ignored the limp, lavished in the present, and they went to bed happy. If they dwelled on his weaknesses, neither was going to be happy, because he would make things Hell for her around the house. As far as she was concerned, her husband had no weaknesses, and anything that could be construed as a weakness was simply her imagination. Yes, they were all her imagination, even the physically obvious ones.

"Now that I see how much the children like your house elf, perhaps I should get one," Deidre sighed, dipping the tip of her cookie into her tea and taking a small bite. "I've always thought them to be a little... foul."

"Oh, they are," Narcissa agreed, nodding her head and re-crossing her legs daintily, "but I figured it was about time to have one in the house. Dobby belonged to my mother, and she's been forcing him on me for ages."

"Your mother," Deidre snorted, rolling her eyes. That woman was insufferable. She had heard so many horror stories from Narcissa, and on the few occasions that she had to interact with her, Deidre forced her cheeriness to the max in order to sound somewhat normal with the older Black matriarch. She was about to go on a mini rant to please Narcissa, but she paused before the first word slipped out.

"What do you mean 'about time'? Is it your mother's pressure, or Lucius'?"

A little smile appeared on her friend's lips, and she arched an eyebrow curiously. Narcissa shrugged her slim shoulders and set her cup down, an expression on her face that Deidre couldn't quite decipher.

"I thought... that with my family expanding in the very near future, it was time to finally get some help around the manor."

Deidre blinked, stunned. She cleared her throat and leaned forward, "Are you... Are you pregnant?"

Please, Merlin, let her be pregnant. The woman wanted it so badly, and if Deidre had guessed wrong, and something else was happening – like a family member moving in, or something – then she was quite sure Narcissa would instantly appear flustered and upset. Couldn't have that, and she wasn't about to have something little ruin their good tea time.

However, her worries were fruitless, as the moment she said 'pregnant', a hundred watt grin stretched across her friend's face. She was right! Deidre let out a shrill squeal, dragging her chair closer to Narcissa's, "How far along?"

"I'm only a few weeks," she replied happily, her eyes watering a touch when Deidre grasped her hands tightly. "You should have seen Lucius! I don't think I've ever seen him so happy! He's already started planning the baby's room and everything..."

"That's wonderful," Deidre mused as Narcissa trailed off, a look of sheer joy on her lovely features. They had been trying everything for so long to get pregnant, including ridiculous theories from midwives that were well beyond their prime and ancient techniques that had been disproven by modern healers, but their mothers thought might be "worth it" in the end. It was such a stressor between the young couple, and Deidre wondered, sometimes, if their marriage was going to stay as smooth if they were to never become pregnant.

"What are you hoping for?" Deidre inquired, arching an eyebrow, "Boy? Girl?"

"Well, I'd love a girl," the blonde sighed, shrugging her shoulders, "but I think we all know that it'd be better in the long run if I had a boy."

"Fair enough."

"I think Lucius will be happy with either... He's just happy to be having a child."

Just then, the sound of a pot shattering echoed from the upstairs hallway, accompanied by the sound of Regan's shrill cry. Rolling her eyes, Deidre pulled herself to her feet and quickly went to investigate. When she and Narcissa arrived at the scene, Dobby was putting a vase that her husband had purchased in Italy back together again, and Regan stood guiltily beside him, tears streaming down her face.

"Regan?" Deidre started, crossing her arms, "Did you knock the vase over?"

The little girl shook her head, her hair fluttering wildly around her face for dramatic effect. It was clear that she had, because she was wearing the same expression now as she had when she accidently knocked over a candle and set the dinner table's linens on fire. Deidre had been less than amused when she tried to pin it on her brother, who was all the way across at the other side, but her husband merely laughed it off and extinguished the flame. Had Armand done it, the man would have been enraged at the clumsiness of the incident, but Regan could do no wrong.

That opinion, fortunately, was not shared by both of her parents. Deidre's eyes narrowed as the girl pointed a shaky finger at the house elf, sniffling noisily. Armand stood behind her, a rather bored expression on his face, and when she arched an eyebrow at him, he shook his head. However, seeing as Dobby was only a house elf, and a new one at the Malfoy family, Deidre could hardly shift the blame to him. She allowed for Narcissa to quietly scold him, halfheartedly it seemed, and then gave Regan another look.

"If that had been a permanent break, your father would have been very cross with you," she stated plainly, noticing Armand shift anxiously, "and he would know if you did it, Regan."

She was now playing with her fingers, trying to avoid the conversation completely. Damn girl knew that her father would never really shout at her. The few times it had happened, all two of them, it had only lasted a few moments, and with a few crocodile tears, the anger dissipated, and Voldemort was soon forgetting the incidents completely.

The clock chimed noisily, and Narcissa let out a sigh, "I best be going. Lucius will be home in an hour, and I'd like to get Dobby started with dinner."

The house elf moved obediently to her side, silent, and Deidre hugged her friend farewell. After that, both Regan and Armand gave their 'Auntie Narcissa' a quick hug as well, and within a moment she had vanished. However, as one body vacated the home, another stepped in. She heard the door close down the hallway, and Regan's face lit up instantly. She scurried around her mother, then peaked around the corner, and she rolled her eyes, both amused and somewhat irritated that she didn't have time to properly reprimand her.

"Daddy!" the little girl screeched, racing out of sight as she heard her husband laughing, somewhat wearily, at the doorway. A small grin appeared on her face, and she gave Armand a little nudge.

"Come along, Armand," she murmured. "Say hello to your father."

He followed her a little shyly down the hallway, then stepped around her to give his father a tentative hug when Regan finally withdrew. It bothered her that the boy was so tentative around him, but her husband barely noticed, and ruffled the lad's dark hair contently.

"Deidre," he greeted finally, giving her a chaste kiss on the cheek, which she leaned into and closed her eyes momentarily. He had been gone two days at this point, doing Merlin knows what. However, there had been a fresh list of murder victims in the Daily Prophet's obituary section this morning, which meant that he had been busy.

"There is something we need to discuss," he muttered, slipping out of his light jacket and hanging it in the hallway closet. Regan tried to divert his attention to her by tugging on his hand, but he batted her away gently, "Armand, take your sister upstairs."

Without saying a word, Armand grabbed Regan's hand and pulled her toward the stairwell, and Deidre smirked at the girl's pout. Once they were out of sight, Voldemort grasped her hand and led her into the kitchen, shutting the door behind him. He then asked her to make him a tea, and settled down at the table. With a nod, she busied herself in silence, setting the water to a boil again with a flick of her wand, and grabbing a fresh teabag from the cupboard. When the task was complete, and a steaming white mug was in front of him, she sat down in the seat at his right, smoothing a hand over her pale yellow dress.

"Distressing news has been brought to my attention today," the man mused after another bout of lengthy silence. He took a sip of his tea, and then gazed into it thoughtfully. Deidre raised an eyebrow, now resting her hands on the table. She waited for him to carry on, but he didn't. Instead, he continued to stare into his tea, fascinated.

"What news?" she asked finally, rousing him from his thoughts.

"A servant of mine, Severus Snape, has come forth with news of a Prophecy," he explained, his voice slowly becoming monotone. "A prophecy from a Seer, who claims that a boy will be born in July of next year... and he will destroy me."

"W-What?" Deidre stammered, the colour draining from her face, "Destroy you in ... what sense?"

"He will be my death, it seems," he remarked, shaking his head as he stared back down at the cup, his tone now sharp. "A mere boy will grow, according to this farce, and attain powers I do not have, and be the end of me."

"That's ridiculous," Deidre snorted dryly. "No one can-"

"It was a prophecy, Deidre," he snapped, his red eyes whipping up to meet hers angrily. "It is something I cannot ignore!"

"This Seer was mad then," she forced out. She felt herself growing more worried by the moment as she sensed the seriousness of the situation. He was taking this to heart. Prophecies were, of course, serious business in their world, and when one was made about you, there was little you could do to get out of it. "What will you do?"

"Hardly a question worth considering," he retorted sardonically, taking another sip of his tea. "I'll kill the whelp and break the prophecy."

Something suddenly occurred to her, and she swallowed anxiously. He noticed the change in expression, "What?"

"Narcissa is pregnant," she whispered. "Now."

He pursed his lips, and then shook his head, "The Malfoy child will be born in June then... The Prophecy said the seventh month, and from parents who have defied me. The Malfoys are obedient servants."

She breathed a small sigh of relief, and then slumped down in her chair. This wasn't happening. It couldn't be possible.

"How will you know who it is?"

"It will take time," he replied, his body relaxing as he too settled into the kitchen chair, "but I will find him. And when I do... I will end him."

* * *

**AUTHOR'S NOTE:**

I know. I fudged the year for the Prophecy, as it is meant to be heard in 1980 at a different time. Sorry.


	7. Honey honey, nearly kills me

_**FLASHBACK 1981**_

"This is _absurd_," Deidre hissed from the bed, watching her husband throw a thick black cloak around himself. "You're going to kill a _child_!"

"I'm not justifying myself to you again," he snapped harshly in return, causing her to flinch. She glared at his retreating figure as he stepped into the bathroom for a moment, closing the door partially behind him. With a scoff, she crossed her legs angrily and folded her arms, staring at the column of light that seeped from the half-closed door.

The tension in the room was evident, and it had been sitting there between the two of them for some time now. Two years has passed since the Prophecy was delivered to her husband. Two sets of birthdays, two Christmases, and various other holidays splashed in between. In that time, Voldemort had become obsessed with the discovery of who his potential murderer would be. It seemed like a foolish mission, as there had to have been countless boys born in the month of July, 1980, and there was no way for sure that he would be able to find the right one. He always argued that if he got it wrong the first time, he could simply try again later; the man had no qualms with mercilessly butchering an infant, despite the fact that he had two at home who worshiped the ground he walked on. Deidre, on the other hand, found this notion a little more difficult to simply sweep aside and ignore. As their children continued on, blissfully ignorant to their father's growing stress about finding this one boy, Deidre grew more frustrated with him.

It was a ridiculous mission. The Seer, whoever the soul might have been, had to have made a mistake, because the very notion of a baby killing one of the most powerful wizards of the modern day was completely illogical. No one in his ranks (which were stronger and more powerful than ever) had enough magic in their system to duel him and be successful, so how could a child without any magical training attempt to end his life? Very few people knew about this Prophecy, but it seemed like Deidre was the only one who wasn't taking it completely serious. Severus Snape, the bearer of the wretched thing, was around more often now. He was a snarky little man, odd and rather unattractive, but according to her husband, he had a brilliant mind. A little twisted, sure, but it was still genius. He was currently working as a Potions Master at Hogwarts, there to keep a watchful eye on Dumbledore.

Ah, Dumbledore. A man her husband loathed more than anyone on this planet – minus this unnamed child – and the constant foil in many of his schemes. It had only recently been discovered that the older wizard had formed a secret society of his own, one to counteract everything that her husband and his Death Eaters did. They named themselves 'The Order of the Phoenix', and while Voldemort had made short work of many of the members and their families, they seemed as strong as ever, indicating that there were potentially more supporters out there that they were unaware of. This too sent her husband into a furious fit of rage.

There was a lot on his plate, granted. There was the whole 'rule-the-world' scheme that had been the original plan (she assumed), along with an unhealthy obsession with immortality. She hadn't really noticed it until the past year, but many of his more personal projects revolved around a similar theme, and whenever she inquired as to their nature, he would shut her out, sometimes cruelly. Next there was managing all the idiots that worked beneath him. They weren't all idiots, naturally, but there was a fair deal of them. Lately it seemed as though the 'dark side' was no longer just attractive to bored pure elitists; no, the scum of Knockturn now called themselves followers of the Dark Lord. Sure, he could delegate, but being the perfectionist he was, he couldn't let the power slip too far from his hands. Then there was that boy from the Prophecy. He had a man break into Mungo's in August of last year to steal the birth records, which was successful, and the slow process of elimination began. It wasn't the only thing on his mind, so the process was slow, but over the past year, it had been steady, and was narrowed down to the Potters. They were a young couple who had refused to join the ranks when propositioned, and were allegedly a part of Dumbledore's little club. Having defied him, and having a son born in July, they were perfect. Once he was set on the Potters, his mind became even more single-tracked.

This, of course, left little time for his own children. Armand was six now, and he was a very thoughtful little boy. He could produce signs of magic that were controlled by his emotions, which he tried to keep inward the best he could, but she always knew something was wrong when a glass shattered, or a window slammed shut. His father was still oblivious to the boy's successes, and would usually dwell on his failures, particularly if they ended up making him look bad. Regan too was falling out of his favour, despite her valiant efforts not to. She was three now, constantly chattering, and tried her hardest to appear as smart as Armand had been at that age. She was a pain in the arse sometimes, but Deidre loved both her children relentlessly, and it pained her to see the look on their faces when their father breezed past them and down to his study without a hint of acknowledgement.

Their marriage was also beginning to fracture. It had started maybe half a year ago. The conversations were short and to the point. The sex was less, and usually only when he instigated it. She felt like she was more of a companion to bounce ideas off of than a wife, and his once charming affection toward her dwindled to the point of nonexistent, and it ate at her insides. Sure, she gave him the space he needed with everything that he had going for him, but sometimes it felt hopeless. What was the point of being married if her husband forgot that she was his wife?

These were the times that she was jealous of Narcissa. No matter how stressed, haggard, or busy Lucius appeared, he still came home with gifts in hand, a rather sly grin, and a promise of good conversation once he was settled. The two had shared the combined stress of being first time parents, though they were coping with it wonderfully. Narcissa had given birth to a healthy baby boy a month ago, and he had been named Draco. Regan thought he was absolutely delicious, and pouted every time she was denied the right to hold him. Narcissa thought it would be fine, but Deidre knew her daughter had a habit of dropping things of all kinds, and didn't trust her with a delicate baby. Lucius was a bit of an anxious father, worried over the simplest of things as if they were life-threatening disasters. Narcissa, on the other hand, was taking everything in stride.

How was it that they could do it, and she and her husband were spectacular failures?

She shook her head, the few strands that were loose from her bun shaking a touch more free. He was actually going to do this. Some little oaf, Pettigrew or something, had informed Voldemort of the Potters whereabouts, and tonight he had planned to slaughter their son.

"You could simply... wait, and see what happens as the boy grows up," Deidre tried one last time when he emerged from their bathroom, the light extinguishing behind him. "Maybe it's all hogwash, and that Snape fellow heard wrong-"

"Again, I'm not having this talk with you for the hundredth time," he barked, grasping his wand off the dresser and slipping it inside his cloak. "So shut up and leave me be!"

"You may be accustomed to everyone else licking your boots, but you won't get it from me!" she snarled, sliding off the side of the bed and stalking over to him, "You've made some _stupid_ decisions in the past, but this is by far the most _idiotic_-"

Before she could get her rant in full motion, one of the few that she ever dared to unleash upon her husband, he silenced her with a solid backhand to the face. The redhead stumbled back and grasped at the wall for support, stunned. He had never struck her before. There had been threats, yes, and although he was known for ruthlessly punishing his inferiors, Deidre had never felt the wrath of his wand or his hand. Until now, that is. The entire right side of her face throbbed, though the pain slowly subsided into a sharp sting. She steadied herself slowly, using the wall that she clutched at for assistance. He stood before her, hands clenched. Perhaps it was time for a different tactic.

"So you'll willingly leave me then?" she whispered as her voice shook, "If this Prophecy comes true, then this boy will somehow kill you... and you eagerly walk away to death?"

"Hardly," he remarked, his tone clipped, "and you know that. You'll gain no sympathy from me with some tears and a soft voice, Deidre."

Hurt gnawed at her as he turned away from her, marching toward the door with one purpose on his mind. She shook her head, wrapping her arms around herself, "I love you! Does that mean so little to you that you'd continue with this farce?"

"I'll be home before dawn," he muttered in response, earning him a shocked expression from the woman he had finally broken. Angry, upset, defeated, Deidre picked up a hard backed book from a nearby table and flung it at the door, hitting the wall beside him noisily.

"Get out then! Go! Go and see that this is completely ludicrous, and _you_ are slowly losing your grip on _everything_!" she shrieked, her voice cracking furiously as he slammed the door behind him.


	8. Ain't it sad?

_**FLASHBACK 1982**_

The wizarding world was still in celebration. Two months had passed, just barely, since her husband met his end at the face of some infant, and while Deidre mourned, the world was elated. It had only taken a day or so for the news to spread that Harry Potter, a child of only a year old, had defeated the biggest terror their world had ever seen. It was November of 1981, and the world was finally free of that villain. They were all thrown into a fit of hysterics on both ends of the spectrum. Those that were against him celebrated for weeks, while those that supported him fled in fear of retribution. The Ministry finally found their courage and began severely prosecuting those who even had a whiff of interaction with the fallen Lord Voldemort. There were arrests nearly once every two days, and they were heavily publicized as the witch or wizard was hauled away by a team of smirking Aurors, off to face their trial by jury against the Wizengamot.

It took a few days to actually confirm that her husband was dead, but during that period, Deidre waited with optimism. He could fool everyone, if he truly wanted to, and that had to be what was happening. The Potter elders were killed, as it was stated in the papers, but the child survived against the Killing Curse, which was the ultimate end to her late husband. At that point, the inner circle thought it wise to move Deidre and the children out of their family home and in with the Malfoys. Once they were out, and had their few personal possessions moved with them, the Death Eaters that her husband trusted enough to be shown the location of the home burned it to the ground, and so terribly that there was no trace of it left for the Ministry to find.

She tried her hardest to keep a brave face for the children. That was what you were supposed to do, after all. The parent was the strong one, the one they could look to in times of trouble. Both were so horribly confused, and Regan continuously asked questions about why they had to move, and when her father would be joining them. She lied to them for a while, though the way Armand looked at her hinted that he had a suspicion that something was wrong. He was only six, granted, but he was smarter and more intuitive than people gave him credit for.

In private, Deidre was a mess. She constantly replayed the fight that they had had on their last night together in her head, and hated herself for every stupid thing she said. Why couldn't she have been supportive instead of judgmental? Although at the time all her reasons were just, now she could barely see the merit in them, and would take them all back if her husband would simply walk through the doors, a little worse for the wear, but all right. That never happened, and although two long months had passed, and it was now January of 1982, she still couldn't forgive herself for being so cruel that night. She told her children about their father's death in early December, a month later. Neither were upset that they hadn't been told sooner, but Regan took a lot longer to grasp the concept of death than her brother.

Armand was crushed. It was so horrible to watch his world crumble, especially since he wasn't an overly expressive boy. However, the sheer devastation of his father's death etched on his face was gutting. It was a little different with Regan, as she was more under the impression that Voldemort had simply gone away again, and wouldn't be coming back for some time. Deidre was content to let her think that, and she wouldn't push the issue until she was a little older to understand everything.

The Malfoys had been perfect hosts, as was expected. Lucius was under a huge amount of pressure, as his name had been mentioned by several convicted Death Eaters in an attempt to lessen their sentence. Ministry officials had been to the house several times already for investigations, but nothing too forthcoming had come from these meetings. Lucius had always been a brilliant liar. Despite his stress, he was around quite a lot, and was lovely with the children. His own son was just over a year old at this point, and Regan generally took it upon herself to drag the poor thing around the house, Dobby watching mindfully from a distance to ensure she didn't do any damage. However, Armand was in need of a male figure in his life, and Lucius transitioned into that wonderfully. He as very supportive of her son, and always praised him for the slightest of things. Whether it was naming a spell properly, or stating a fact about their magical history, Lucius acted as though the boy had performed a rare bit of magic without a wand. It did astonishing things for the boy's self-esteem, and by Christmas, Deidre had noticed a slight change in him. Armand, though still upset over the death of his father, was more cheerful than she had seen him in... well, ever.

Narcissa thrived with three children in the house. She somehow managed to divide up her time perfectly between all of them, and Regan was thrilled at having another mother figure who liked to spoil her more than her actual mother did. The younger woman was also exceptionally supportive toward Deidre, and could read her subtle emotions better than anyone else. She understood the differences between a bad day and a completely horrible one, and would act according. What pleased Deidre the most is that Narcissa did not seem depressed at the loss of a Dark Lord or radical figure, which was how most of the inner circle acted on the rare occasion that they now saw her. Instead, Narcissa held her hand over the loss of a husband, lover, and supposedly best friend.

The rest of her husband's followers were less than involved in her life. Since he had died, it seemed like everyone only thought about themselves, and the few that remained faithful were being rounded up and sent to Azkaban faster than anyone had expected. Many stories were published these days of people being hexed or threatened into obeying her husband. While that might have been the case for quite a few, she knew that many came forth willingly, and she scoffed every time she read the paper of some fellow who had once groveled before her husband now wept at the hands of the Ministry claiming ignorance toward his deeds.

One of the few staunch supporters that remained heavily faithful was Bellatrix Lestrange. She had not been caught yet, and was leading the charge to finding out exactly what had happened to her master. The woman's attitude had gone from forced civility to downright disrespect and cruelty toward Deidre the moment her husband's death was announced. This happened to be who she was watching now. The dark-haired woman marched back and forth in the Malfoy dining hall, wand in hand, at nearly 8 in the morning. She had shown up only a half hour earlier while they were all enjoying some breakfast, and while she had greeted her family and Deidre's children with some affection, the Death Eater was as unhappy as ever to see Deidre seated next to her sister. She had accepted the coffee that Dobby had prepared for her upon arrival without a hint of thanks, drank it quickly, and had now moved on to ranting about the bumbling idiots who had recently been captured.

It was a bit of a tiring topic, seeing as Bellatrix barely discussed anything more than the incompetence of those that were still alive and well outside of prison. Lucius was sometimes her target of attack, as he had been lying extremely low since her husband fell, and Deidre could see when the strain on his face would begin to form. Although Bellatrix had done more with the man, Deidre had known him for longer, and was quite skilled at deciphering his calculated expressions. Whether Bellatrix had that same talent or not, she was uncertain. If the woman did notice that her ranting was starting to bother the Malfoy patriarch, she certainly didn't seem to care.

"Did you notice that Walden and some tart were arrested over the holidays?" she snapped, rolling her eyes as she made a sharp turn on her heel, starting back in the other direction. "Can't these idiots _blend_ into the rest of the mindless drones out there?"

"Well, we cannot all be as talented as you, Bellatrix," Lucius replied flatly, setting his fork down on his empty plate and leaning back in his seat. "Perhaps you should be out there properly instructing everyone how to act."

"Well _someone_ ought to do it," she sneered in return. Deidre rolled her eyes as she added some milk to her tea. She had sent the children out of the room, Draco in tow, once the woman had arrived and they were finished with their breakfast. No need for them to hear the ranting of an irate woman this early in the morning.

"Bella, sit down," Narcissa sighed, shooting her sister a look of disapproval. The older woman arched an eyebrow at her, and then studied the three people at the obscurely long dining table. After a moment or so, she let out a shrill laugh, one that was only half as crazy as her mind seemed to be.

"This is ridiculous," she spat, glaring at all of them. "Lucius, you should be _doing_ something! The Dark Lord has been gone for two months, and you haven't done a _thing_ to find him!"

The man at the end of the table gave something of a scoff, and before he could get out a word of protest, she moved on, "And Cissy... Well, I don't blame you, but you should be encouraging your worthless husband to do what is right! And you..."

Her attention finally shifted to Deidre, and the redhead's eyebrows shot up, pondering what on Earth this woman would dare say to her.

"You were his _wife_," she said quietly, her dark eyes bulging as she stared. "_You_ should be the one trying the hardest to see what really happened that night! You should be the one trying to see if he's really alive! All you've done is sit here, weeping pathetically in my sister's house... I would have thought that had the Dark Lord chosen someone to ever marry, he would have at least chosen someone with enough _strength_ to carry on his work in his absence!"

Deidre's eyes narrowed as a tense silence settled over the room. The only noise came from Narcissa shifting uncomfortably at her side, until finally Deidre pushed herself back from the table and stormed out of the room. She wasn't about to give Bellatrix the satisfaction of arguing with her. Anything she said would only be seen as an excuse, and she knew that the woman would simply love to jump down her throat at her failed attempt at logic. She made a quick venture up to her room, where she grabbed a green traveling cloak and her wand, and then went back downstairs to the front hall to collect a pair of shoes. The children, as far as she could hear, were playing some sort of game with Dobby in the den, and were oblivious to the trouble between the two women. The last thing she heared was Draco giggling shrilly, and Dobby letting out a squeak of pain.

"Deidre," Narcissa called as the redhead slipped into a pair of black boots. January had been chilly this year, though not as cold as the last, and it was still nice enough to walk about without any ridiculous hats or nonsense. The only place she could think of going to simply clear her head was Diagon Alley. Sure, it would be riddled with people who were pleased with the destruction of her family, but no one knew that, and no one would be willing to have a go at her like they would if she remained here for a moment longer. All she needed to do was clear her head, and once that was settled, she would come back and see if Narcissa was interested in taking the children out somewhere. For now, however, she needed to be alone.

"You know she's only saying that because she's upset," Narcissa reasoned when she got closer, her arms crossed over the front of her housecoat. "Where are you going?"

"Diagon," Deidre replied briskly, "I just need to get some air... Maybe pick up a thing or two."

"Let me come with you-"

"Alone, Narcissa," she muttered, throwing her lengthy red hair back and out of the collar of her cloak. "I just need some time to think properly without anyone. I'll be back soon."

Before her friend could respond, Deidre had vanished with a loud 'crack', and soon found herself standing in a small alley just off the main Diagon street. The cold wind bit at her sharply, but it felt more refreshing than alarming. She inhaled deeply, taking a moment to let her nerves settle, and then stepped out into the main street. It wasn't too busy, though bustling enough to make a person feel anonymous. The day had only just begun, and those that were heading to work had stopped in to grab a bite to eat here and there, or were meeting up with co-workers to walk to work together. She often wondered what it would be like to lead such a normal and ordinary existence, but those moments were often fleeting. She liked where she was now; she had loved her life since that day back in the diner when her husband first walked into her life.

Shoving her hands in her pockets, she soon joined the throng of people, gliding along naturally without any aim or goal. She had noticed, however, that there were a couple of people giving her odd looks. There was a time when she had been used to men staring at her; she was a very attractive young adult, but since Voldemort had died, she felt as though her newly gaunt and sullen appearance ought to frighten off most potential suitors. This time, however, she noted that there had been the occasional woman who gave her an odd look, which was unnerving. Although she was not a paranoid woman, nor had she ever been due to the fact that her husband would have killed anyone who dared mention her name in public. Her privacy as his wife had always been respected; it was an unspoken law within the ranks.

After an hour or so of walking around the Alley, she couldn't help but feel like more people were looking at her. A few had started whispering, even, and her discomfort levels began to rise. So, to get away from the few prying eyes that were studying her somewhat intently, she decided to grab a copy of the Prophet and head to the nearest café. In which, she would hide herself away in the farthest back corner, read the paper, and then head back to the Malfoys. Even with her discomfort, she still wasn't quite ready to go back, seeing as there was a very good chance Bellatrix might have still been lurking around. The woman was relentless.

She moved across the street quickly, spotting a newspaper stand just to the left of her desired coffee shop. However, the moment she was close enough to read the front page story, she stopped dead in her tracks. The woman found herself staring at a photo of herself from her most recent holiday to Ireland to visit some family members on the front page of the Daily Prophet. It was one that her husband had kept on the desk in his study. There was nothing particularly special about it; she was standing in front of a restaurant, her red hair swept up in a high ponytail, and her cheeks pink from the chill. She was fiddling with her nails, and would look up occasionally to smile at the photographer, who had been her uncle (the only one who she had bothered to contact after so many years away from them). Someone must have... stolen it...

She could hardly breathe as she read the title, which insisted that she was the wife of the fallen Dark Lord. It was right there in print, in big, black bold letters. Ignoring everyone around her, she stalked over to the nearest copy hanging and snatched it up, reading the article below the picture feverishly. Apparently, a journalist had been sitting in on a hearing for some unnamed Death Eater – must have been Walden, as this was recent – and the man had named Deidre as the Dark Lord's wife in an attempt to shave off ten years of his sentence. It would be granted, the article claimed, so long as the Ministry could confirm these accusations. After that paragraph, the article went on to give a mini biography of her life, including her lunatic pureblood parents, her brief and unfinished jaunt at Hogwarts, and her last known occupation as a waitress at the diner. From there, the journalist speculated that Deidre had disappeared with Voldemort as the man rose to power, and that would explain why her records simply stop after her employment was terminated. There was also a brief mention of her children, though Walden must not have known their names, as they were not given.

A white, hot anger balled up inside her, and she could see her hands shaking as she finished the article. Someone had ratted her out. _Her_. She had never been involved in anything that the Death Eaters had done. No criminal activities; nothing. But someone felt like it was necessary to send her name to the Ministry. No doubt they had gone searching for her home, but hadn't thought to look at the Malfoys' just yet.

"Tha's two galleons if you want to buy it," the pavilion owner barked gruffly, reading a copy of the paper himself. Deidre set it back down, which caused him to glance up, and then frown. Although her hair was not up at the moment, her face had been pretty clear in the picture, which had been magnified at the bottom of the article as well. He then folded the paper closed and gazed at the picture on the front page, and then back to Deidre, who was a little too stunned to run away. He did a few more double takes, and then his eyes widened, "You're... You're her-"

That did it. Deidre turned away hurriedly and tried to flee the scene, but she was stopped by a small group of people who had also been reading a copy of the Prophet. Before she could stop him, the vendor shouted out that it was 'her', and people began comparing her to the picture on the front page. Flustered, Deidre searched anxiously for an exit, and when none immediately presented itself, she pulled her wand from her cloak to apparate away. However, the moment it surfaced, a few people around her gasped, and a fellow ended up expelling it from her hand. Those that believed she was the woman in the paper must have thought she was out to do something terrible with it; maybe light someone on fire, who knows?

"Are you really her?"

"How could you marry someone like that?"

"Where's your sense of moral _decency_?"

"He murdered my husband!"

Deidre felt herself backing up as people approached her... people who were no longer afraid of her husband's wrath. Suddenly, someone grabbed her arm, and she let out a surprised yelp, turning back to see an unfamiliar man clutching her. He was tall, lean, and had an intimidating look to his tawny locks. He adjusted his thin-rimmed glasses and cleared his throat, "Rufus Scrimgeour... I'm with the Ministry. Why don't I escort you out of this mess? There are a few of us that would like to have a word with you."

"I..." Deidre stammered, her eyes darting back to the crowd, where she suddenly spotted Lucius striding up from the rear. She then looked at this Scrimgeour character holding her, and she knew that it wasn't worth Lucius getting any more involved with the Ministry than he already was. Briefly, she turned her attention to her blond companion, and shook her head a fraction of an inch, making him stop. Swallowing thickly, she stepped closer to the man now holding her quite firmly, and nodded her head, "Oh, please... I'm sure this is just some big misunderstanding... One I'd like to get cleared up."

He gave her a look, one that hinted at his apparent disbelief in her statement, but he pulled her a little closer to no doubt perform a Side-Along, and then murmured, "Yes, a misunderstanding. Should be cleared up in no time."


	9. Laughing in the Rain

_**FLASHBACK 1982.2**_

"I wasn't aware I was under arrest," Deidre stated, gazing around the small interrogation room. After she had been picked up on Diagon, Rufus Scrimgeour had quickly escorted her through the bowels of the Ministry, and into a very small, dark room on one of the lower levels. The only things inside were a pair of chairs, placed on either side of a metal table, and a small, albeit poorly working, light hanging from the ceiling. There was also a mirror covering the length of one wall, and Deidre could only imagine who might be on the other side watching.

She knew she had to behave herself in here. Although she had never taken part in any of her husband's devious acts, she was linked to him, perhaps more so than many of the upper level Death Eaters that had been arrested as of late. She knew they would be looking to catch her on anything, and she couldn't let them send her away to prison. Not when she had two children who surely needed her more than anyone else. So, she had been polite during the entire walk down to this little cell. She had thanked him when he held the door open for her, smiled the pretty smile she always did when she was acting, and acted as though his offering of a drink of water was the kindest gesture ever. Although the Ministry as an institution did not frighten her, this Rufus character certainly did. He had the appearance of a lion with all that shaggy hair, and he was unflinchingly direct with his questions.

"I would hardly call this an arrest," he replied calmly, his hands folded neatly together on the table. "After all, your hands are not bound, nor is there a guard here to ensure my safety."

"That would hardly be necessary, even if I was under arrest," she mused, "since I don't see any way I could physically overpower you... and the nice fellow in Diagon managed to get rid of my wand before I could use it."

"To escape?"

"Well, it was a very tense scene, yes."

"And where would you run to?"

"I wouldn't 'run'," Deidre scoffed, taking a delicate sip of her water. After a pause, she carried on, "I would simply go home, have a nice cup of tea, and forget this happened."

"Where is home?" he inquired, leaning in a touch, "We found the remains of your ... husband's estate. Same fellow who gave you up gave up the location... It was quite demolished. I hope you weren't inside when that happened."

"No, I wasn't," she remarked stiffly. He smirked, and the pair said nothing for a minute or so. She knew he was trying to get her to divulge where she was living now, and there was no way in Hell she wanted to implicate the Malfoys in any of this. After they had taken such good care of her in these desperate months, she wasn't going to throw them under the bus to the likes of this Rufus Scrimgeour fellow.

"Now now, you must be staying with someone," he said finally, his tone a little lighter. "Or, what? No summer home in the country for you and the Mister?"

"You're mocking my family life, Mr. Scrimgeour," she insisted coldly, folding her arms across her chest, "and I don't appreciate it."

"I apologize," he acquiesced, giving his shoulders a quick shrug. "We all know so little about the He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named's personal life that this is just such a treat for me. Now, are you staying with your parents?"

Deidre's cheeks were a little tinted after the last statement, as she hated (though understood) Voldemort's media nicknames. However, the thought of her running back home to her parents made her snort rather loudly, and she shook her head, "I haven't spoken to either of my parents since I was fifteen."

"Is that around the time you met your future husband?"

"No... We met when I was twenty."

"Ah. And was it love at first sight? I suppose the thought of pureblood supremacy and murdering Muggleborns is a turn on for any young woman."

Her cheeks flushed again, this time in further anger, and she found her eyes glued to a spot in the middle of the table. She wasn't about to play into his ridiculous game of baiting her. No, all she had to do was sit here, and when he was bored enough, they were bound to let her go. She hadn't done anything, nor had anyone implicated her in a crime; her name had merely been mentioned because of who she was married to, and that was that.

"If you're keeping me here to insult me, then I feel as though my time could be better spent elsewhere," she hissed softly when she finally caught a look at his rather smug expression. He thought he was being clever. Deidre pushed her chair away from the table and stood up, "I'd like to leave."

"Now now, we're only having a friendly chat," he mused, nodding down to the chair. "Just sit down, and once I'm through with my questions, we can discuss what will happen next."

"What happens is I leave-"

"What happens," he started over her, his voice a little more aggressive this time, "is that you will sit down and tell me everything there is to know about your former husband. Or, if the subject is too ...painful, what with his recent demise-" Her stomach knotted tightly. "-then I will happily accept more names of his inner circle, and those who you are staying with now."

She swallowed thickly, noting that he had sat up in his chair now, and the mirth that had been in his eyes before was lost beneath those slim glasses. The woman began to pace in front of the mirrored wall, feeling odd that people might be standing a mere foot or so away from her. However, this wasn't going to be the part where she broke and sat down to give every little detail of her secret life. No, just because he raised his voice a bit and called on his caveman ancestry hardly meant she was going to open up to him.

"Deidre," he said sharply, "I am a patient man, but only to a certain degree. You realize we could lock you away for a very long time-"

"For what?" she snapped, glaring at the man before her, "Is it a crime to marry a man that you love?"

"No-"

"I was _never_ involved in anything he did," she carried on, letting slip a little more than she had intended. "He merely came back to me when he was finished with whatever had he had planned to do, and like a good wife I had a warm meal and a clean house waiting!"

She didn't realize it, but her eyes had started to water a little. Merlin, she missed that surly bastard. Deidre blinked rapidly to hold the tears back, and she noticed Scrimgeour watching her closely. With a soft sniffle, she looked down her nose at him, and in a tone that had gained back some of its confidence, she remarked, "You could ask any of the men you arrested... Not once did they see me out on a mission. The few that truly knew my family life would laugh at the thought of me being out in the field with my husband."

"So you'll never deny your marriage to him?"

"Never," she replied firmly.

"You know that we are now starting to arrest supporters," he murmured, cocking his head to the side as he stared at her, "and I suspect that you would have been his biggest supporter out there."

"I... I..." she stammered, her eyebrows knitting in frustration, "That's ridiculous. You cannot arrest people based on their opinion! I thought the Ministry was a load of rubbish long before I was married, and being married has hardly changed my opinion of it! As for the social changes... Well, I won't deny my affiliation with my background, but I was hardly advocating death and genocide of a certain group of people. I could still love and support my husband, but not believe in every little thing he was doing."

"Is that your story then?"

"That's the _truth_," she snapped. He stood up slowly, a sigh slipping from his lips. After adjusting his official Ministry robes, he gave her a once over with a gaze that made her shift uncomfortably.

"Be that as it may," he started irritably, "I'll still need you to give me some useful information, seeing as you were so heavily involved in this decade long struggle that we have been battling. Many people have died because of the 'man you love', and I cannot let that slide."

"Many people have died in Azkaban because the Ministry shoved them in unlawfully," she retaliated, her voice a little more calm now. "Are you going to do something about that?"

His reaction to her insolence was much more volatile than she had expected, and she let out a little gasp when he grasped her glass and hurled it at the wall. The thing shattered into dozens of small pieces, water spilling everywhere, and she carefully hustled around the table as he made a move to approach her. While mindful to keep the table between them at all times, she couldn't help but observe that his wand was now resting loosely in his left hand, and she realized that this once patient man was no longer anything of the sort.

"You make jokes at all the dark magic that's been polluting our world, hmm?" he sneered, "I should have left you to the people in Diagon... I'm sure there are dozens out there who would like to take their anger out on the man who killed their loved ones. And seeing that he's dead, I have a feeling all their rage will now shift to you and his followers."

"I didn't mean to make a joke-"

"Start giving me names, starting with the people who are housing you, and I will forget it."

"No," she answered defiantly, darting to the other side of the table as the larger man took a few steps toward her.

"Names, now, or I'll get them by other means," he snarled, wand raised at her chest now.

"You're barbaric!"

"Names!"

"No!"

And then it hit her. Pain beyond any pain she had ever felt in her lifetime. No one had used this Unforgivable on her before, not even her husband in his most dire fits of rage, and it was intolerable. The pain radiated out from her spinal cord, the nerves dancing to life under the magic, and soon traveled up to her head, through her eyes, and then down to the rest of her body. She had never been very good with pain before, and the weight of it caused her to drop to her knees, and a hoarse scream was torn from her lips. Her body contorted under the sheer pressure that was being hammered against it, and her scream only ceased because she had run out of breath.

Now, the spell must have only lasted for thirty seconds, but it felt a hundred times longer. How her husband's followers had been able to walk after he punished them with it for their failures was beyond her understanding, but she now had a whole new level of respect for them. When the pain subsided enough for her to move, she noticed that every part of her was shaking as she lay curled up on the floor. Scrimgeour stood directly across from her, wand still trained on her figure, and he cocked his head to the side, demanding the same of her as he had before. Everything was in a bit of a haze now, and she ignored him purposefully, knowing that the moment she cracked, she would never be able to forgive herself.

Ignoring the way her joints were crying for her to stop moving, she started to crawl along the side of the wall, grunting a little at the struggle to move her own body weight. The man's shoes were noisy now as they stalked across the floor to her, and before she could stop him, he gave her a swift kick to the stomach, pushing all the air out of her. Another kick made her scream breathlessly, a small stream of tears rolling down her cheeks, and she gingerly placed her hands in front of her stomach for protection. However, the hard front of his shoe only wrecked havoc on her fingers, and she cried out each time it pummeled into them. When he finally stepped away, she cast a glance at her hands, and winced as she surveyed the bloodied and potentially sprained fingers.

"Names, or I'll do it again," he ordered. Her only response was a whimper as she continued to crawl away from him. However, she did not notice she had just crawled into the piles of broken glass, and they cut at her exposed forearms and wrists.

That pain was nothing compared to the next around with the Cruciatous Curse. The magic contorted her body again, making her shake and roll onto her stomach. Her current position allowed her to lay face down into the shards of glass, which ground into her cheeks. When he was finished with her, there was blood mixing with the tears on her face, and she looked an absolute mess.

"Didn't you ever wonder what it felt like to be tortured?" he mused softly, walking toward her with purpose. "After all, your husband did it quite routinely to anyone he pleased."

"Please..." she muttered weakly, her voice shaking, "Please, stop."

She knew Voldemort would have been disgusted that she begged for some mercy, but she couldn't take it anymore. Although she didn't want to say anything against the Malfoys, perhaps handing Bellatrix over wouldn't be such a terrible idea. The woman was a nuisance, and the Ministry could have a stout supporter locked up, screaming and kicking the whole way to Azkaban. However, before she had the opportunity to say anything, to heavy door to the interrogation room was opened, and both she and Rufus looked back to see who it was.

"This isn't any of your business, Dumbledore," Scrimgeour snapped irritably, "I'm handling this just fine."

The figure, Dumbledore, in the doorway cleared his throat in a disapproving manner. Although Deidre could only see the hem of his cloak from where she lay, she recognized his unique voice from her Hogwarts days in a heartbeat, "Yes, however, the Minister has given me special permission to continue with asking the questions, Rufus. You may watch from outside, if you wish."

"I'll need to see written permission-"

"Your superiors from your department are examining the letter outside," the older man remarked calmly, taking a few more steps inside. "Now, if you'll excuse us... I would like to speak to Miss Gyden before you curse her into unconsciousness."

No one had called her by her last name in years. She felt the tension in the room rise, and for just about a minute Scrimgeour stood there, no doubt having a battle of the wills with her former headmaster, but he soon lost. Without another word, her interrogator left the room, and she heard the thick door slam shut noisily. It rattled her head a little, but she somehow found the strength to prop herself up on her elbows. Mercifully, she didn't need to do much else, as Albus Dumbledore was soon at her side, gripping her shoulders tenderly and easing her to her feet. He sat her down in the chair Rufus had been sitting in before, then grasped her old one and dragged it to the other side so he could sit next to her. Without saying much, he reached out and gently brushed the glass from her cheeks, eyeing the blood distastefully.

"I remember being quite disappointed to hear you had dropped out of Hogwarts for personal reasons," he chuckled softly, "though I could never have imagined this would be the path you would take."

"It was hardly included in the Big Picture, Professor," she croaked, not exactly sure what else to call him, "but here we are."

"I can help you, Deidre," he whispered, studying her over his half-moon glasses thoughtfully, "but you must answer all my questions as honestly as you can. I hardly think Azkaban is the place for you, but if you do not co-operate with me, then I am powerless to keep you from going there."

She nodded silently, a rogue tear sliding down her cheek. Everything hurt. Her internal body ached from the curse, and her face throbbed from the glass punctures.

"When did you first meet Tom?"

"Tom?" she repeated, shooting him a quizzical look, "I don't..."

"Tom was his name before he was known as Lord Voldemort," he explained. "Did he not tell you that?"

She shook her head, and he sighed, "Ah. Well, that gives me a timeframe. How long were you married?"

"Nearly ten years."

"And were you ever a part of any of his ... activities?"

"No."

"Why not?"

"I had other jobs," she replied, her voice somewhat monotone when she realized that this might be the only way she could keep herself out of prison for her children. "There was cooking and cleaning, and I had to raise the children. He was gone quite a lot."

The mention of their children seemed to perplex the older man, and he leaned inward, his expression neutral, but his eyes interested, "How many children did you have with him?"

"Two. A boy and a girl."

"What are their names?"

"Armand and Regan."

"And were they close to their father?"

"Armand was a little frightened of him," she stated, "but he always wanted to please him. Very smart, our boy... just like his father. Regan adored him with all her heart, and wanted nothing more than his attention."

"Where are they now?"

She hesitated with that, sniffling loudly . Her former headmaster touched her knee softly, and then forced her to meet his gaze, "Please, Deidre-"

"They'll take them from me!" she cried suddenly, shaking her head, "I love them more than anything, and they'll take them away from me! I can't... I can't lose them. He might have been a cruel man, but we both loved our children, and I am not my husband-"

"I know," he stated, cutting off what might have been a very long plea. She studied the man in front of her carefully. He hadn't changed much from her days at Hogwarts. His beard had gotten longer, a little thicker, and certainly whiter, but that was it. Those light blue eyes that had pierced her own when she had been caught sneaking out were the same that stared back at her now.

"How did you find me?" she inquired tentatively, fresh tears rolling down her cheeks.

"I came in early this morning to discuss the front page of the Prophet with the Minister," he explained. "It was mere luck that you were in at the same time, otherwise I feel you might not be in the same condition you are now. Much worse off, I think."

"Thank you," she whispered.

"Now tell me where your children are," he insisted as kindly as he could. She shot him the same fearful look that had been on her face before, and he shook his head, "I would like to collect them and bring them here to you. The deal I worked out with the Minister, should you have been caught, is that you would reside in the Ministry for an assessment, along with your children. When the Ministry is quite sure you are not your husband, you will be relocated away from all this to start new. Does that sound like something you can do?"

"Will you go get them?" she inquired, hating the feeling of hopelessness that was starting to rise up from her gut. "Do you promise that they won't take them away from me?"

"I will do what I can to make sure they stay with you, so long as you do as you're asked."

"I won't tell them who the other Death Eaters are... I... I can't."

He paused momentarily, eyeing her once again, and then sighed, "That will be an issue for another day, then. For now, I can only promise that I will get Armand and Regan here, and the three of you will be kept safe and secure."

She nibbled on her lip, lost in thought, and after quickly analyzing what could happen instead of his deal – ending up in prison, and her children completely separated from her forever – she saw that there was no other option, really, "Fine."

"Who are they with now?"

"A woman I've known since childhood," she lied, carefully picking at some of the scabbing flood on her fingers. "Narcissa Malfoy... I... You'll find them there. The Malfoys don't have anything to do with-"

"That's all I need to know, Deidre," he murmured, cutting her off as she tried to insist that her old friends weren't worth the investigation.

"Please... don't let anyone hurt my children. They don't... They don't understand any of this."

"I know, Deidre... I know."


	10. And the pretty birds have flown

_**FLASHBACK 1983 **_

Deidre had been waiting for this day for a very long time. She had been living in the Ministry, along with her children, for over a year now, and it was finally time to move out. Dumbledore had been good on his promise, and had picked the children up from Narcissa after they had spoken. Since then, she had heard news on and off that the Malfoys were facing criminal charges for being involved with her husband, though they were having some trouble proving the guilt. Lucius, from what she had read in the papers, claimed he had been blackmailed, threatened, and cursed into performing her husband's wishes, and while that hurt to hear him say, she knew he was doing what was necessary to protect their family. The woman wished she could have been there for them during this whole ordeal, but the only mail she could send or receive had to be addressed to her parents, which meant she neither received nor sent any mail from her new 'home'.

At first, the whole family was under constant surveillance. They had been placed in a ward in St. Mungo's for testing, which had lasted about two months. Regan hated living in the hospital at first, since she could no longer run amok wherever she pleased, nor did she have someone around to spoil her constantly. No one was particularly cruel to the children at first, but there was a distinct coldness toward the entire family that she was sure both children picked up on pretty quickly. Armand, however, adored living in the hospital. He was fascinated with every little detail of the institution, and when he became more comfortable with the healers, requested to follow them around so he could see how they worked. They denied him that privilege at first, but when they realized neither of the children were what they had expected – the cruel and violent offspring of a murderer – the staff around Mungo's became a touch more lenient. The female staff members began to indulge Regan enough to let her be her overly dramatic self, while the healers were more than happy to show Armand how they performed simple procedures on non-critical patients. No one staying in the wards knew who the family was, though a few would study Deidre to determine whether or not she was the woman in the papers, but aside from that she faced very little difficulties from the rest of the patients.

Although her children warmed up to the staff eventually, Deidre remained somewhat aloof. She was protective over her family, and constantly questioned the tests and procedures that were being performed on them. Although she had never been an overly loud individual, she was much quieter now than she had been in the past. Armand was adept enough to pick up on his mother's sadness, and was smart enough to let her deal with it on her own. He was still very close with her, and the pair spent a great deal of time together when he wasn't observing other healers. Regan, on the other hand, was occasionally flustered by her mother's lack of social grace, and would demand to be taken out by someone other than Deidre. Usually, Deidre would just give in to the request; she did not have the energy or patience to deal with a spoiled little girl when there was a great deal of people scrutinizing her every move.

The healers came to a various number of conclusions, all of which Deidre could have told them if they had just asked. They registered both children as Parseltongues, courtesy of their father. They were both halfbloods too, as her husband's line had been tainted somewhere along the way. It had never bothered her before, because he was more of a wizard than any pureblood could have ever been, but the way people sniggered about it upset her more than she would have liked to admit. Both children were seen by analysts, and a general overview of their personalities was compiled, and Deidre never argued with their results. Armand, they concluded, was a clever, polite, and inquisitive boy who had a thirst for knowledge. His grasp on magic was strong, and they figured he had the potential to become a very accomplished wizard. However, he was demanding, quiet and a little forceful when he was on his quest for greater knowledge, which they all decided was "troubling". Regan's magical skills were not ranked as high as her brother's were, but she had better social skills, in a manner of speaking. She was theatrical, oblivious to the ways her actions affected others, and a touch narcissistic. She would grow, they said, to become an adequate witch, much like her mother.

Deidre had also been analyzed, though she wasn't privy to the results like she was when it came to her children. However, from what she had been told by her analyst, they saw her as a woman in grief, who had still not come completely to terms with the death of her husband. She could be short with her children, though she genuinely adored them, and would never do anything unless it was in their best interest. They called her guarded, depressed, broken, and various other terms for the weaknesses of her current character, and she simply let them. Her passiveness only occurred because of the hopelessness of the situation. She perked up when they were moved away from the hospital and into a new ward in the depths of the Ministry. Here, she was denied access to the Prophet for some time, and was seen by more analysts to assess her mental state. At some point during the year, there had been talks of potential prison sentence for Deidre, but they were dismissed when they realized it would not benefit anyone, and she shouldn't have to pay for her deceased husband's crimes.

Living at the Ministry was... boring. Although she no longer felt like people were constantly judging her, there was very little to do. The few people who actually enjoyed coming down to speak with her were always very busy with "important business" and could never stay for long. The children went to a daycare during the day, and were permitted to interact with Ministry employee children, though they were forbidden to discuss their father, or the fact that they were living in the Ministry. Regan hardly cared about any of that, because it wasn't as interesting as creating a social circle for herself amongst the other children. Armand remained somewhat shy, though he was always eager to tell Deidre about all the activities they had done during the day with their caregivers. It made her sick to think that her children were interacting with brats of the people she hated most in this world, but it did warm her heart whenever she saw how happy they were when coming back to her after a day of playtime and fun.

About three months into her stay there, Deidre was given access to the media again, and received a copy of the Prophet daily. The Malfoys had been cleared of all charges, thankfully, and Lucius had only been in prison while they were determining the state of his innocence. It must have been brutal on Narcissa, and she only wished that she could have been there for support as her friend had been for her. They were not allowed to write to her, but that seemed like it would be for the best. The Ministry only barely believed Lucius, apparently, and any little piece of incriminating evidence they could gather they would surely use, and Deidre wasn't about to hand it to them. The one thing that had made her smile, however, was the fact that Bellatrix had been arrested. She was being charged with brutally torturing a pair of Aurors into insanity, along with her husband and their friend Barty Crouch Jr., and they all faced a life in prison. Bellatrix seemed to have the last word, unfortunately, and went to prison screaming that the Dark Lord would return, and she alone was faithful.

Miserable toad.

Two months later, Deidre has been given permission to do some light paperwork for Amelia Bones. She was the head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, and always needed someone around to file paperwork and write things up. The woman was quite cold at first, as Deidre's husband was responsible for the death of many of her family members (apparently), but after a few months the woman was decidedly more civil. Their conversations were limited at best, and neither wished the other a pleasant evening when an escort arrived to take Deidre back to her ward. She completed most of her work in silence. There were a few bleeding-heart Aurors who thought she was wrongfully imprisoned, and while she was, she didn't need their pity, and usually ignored their pleasant attempts at conversation. However, when the entire department got together to throw a birthday for Armand, and then one for Regan, in which the children were spoiled well beyond what Deidre had ever imagined, she figured it was only fair that she humoured them occasionally when they tried to talk to her.

A Christmas holiday came and went, and into a new year, Deidre felt as though they would be trapped here forever. The children still enjoyed their daycare sessions, but were constantly asking questions about when they would be leaving to return to a normal life. She had carefully explained their situation a few times, but they seemed unable to fully grasp the extent of their stay in the Ministry. It was, essentially, Azkaban, only nicer on most fronts. However, most people that were sentenced to the wizarding prison could never hope to see the outside world again. Deidre and her children, mercifully enough, were not condemned to that fate.

That night in early April, Deidre sat before a large panel of wizards – perhaps nine or so – as they all reviewed a rather thick file between them. In it were no doubt the test results, the notes that Aurors had been keeping "secretly" on her work ethic, and anything else they saw fit to record. There was quite a great deal of whispering, and Deidre stood patiently in front of them, hands clasped behind her still too-slim frame. She knew they were finally going to be set free. Amelia was wearing an expression of slight discontentment, but it was not altogether horrible. It meant that Deidre was going to get her way. Whether the older woman liked it or not, Deidre knew that she had grown on her over the last few months especially, and she was generally mildly pleased when something generous was given to Deidre and her children.

"We have decided," Millicent Bagnold (the current Minister for Magic, only in office three years at this point), "that it is time for you to start fresh, Miss Gyden."

"How kind, Minister," she replied cordially, forcing something of a thin smile. There were a few whispers at the table.

The Minister cleared her throat, "As such, the Ministry will be providing you with accommodation at a secret location, which cannot ever be shared with anyone." She paused, "Not even your closest friends. Do you understand?"

"Yes, Minister."

"It will be in a Muggle community," the woman continued, adjusting the small spectacles that perched neatly across the bridge of her nose, "and the only way to remain in that lodging and out of the Ministry is to carry on life as a Muggle."

Deidre faltered for a moment. She felt her cheeks flush brightly, and she shifted from foot to foot. The cotton dress she was wearing, provided so lovingly by her captors, suddenly felt tight and uncomfortable, despite the way is simply hung off her. She shook her head, "Excuse me? As a Muggle?"

"Yes," Amelia stated, inserting herself into the conversation. "Although all charges of any nature have been dropped, we cannot have the temptation around to return to your old life."

"So you give me a death sentence in my new one?" Deidre snapped, all semblance of cool leaving her, "I wouldn't know the first thing about living like a Muggle!"

"It isn't all that difficult, actually," came a voice from down the table. The man was a pudgy thing whom she only knew as the head of the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts Department. The pair had never formally spoken before, "I will send someone every other day for the first month to teach you the basic skills needed to live as a Muggle."

"But-"

"All forms of taxes and other Muggle government issues will be settled by us at the Ministry," he carried on, giving her something that she perceived as an empathetic smile. "Those things can be a bit tricky, but we've worked something out with a liaison in the Muggle government here in Britain."

"And my children?" she demanded, her eyes searching the faces of the jury before her for some hint that this was all a ridiculous joke, "They've lived as wizards all their lives... They don't know anything else. They won't understand why this is happening either, and why they can't be around other wizards!"

"Or perform magic," Amelia added, which caused Deidre to scoff noisily. "Now, Deidre, it is necessary. They cannot, you understand, grow up in the magical shoes of their father. It is only right that they have a different life from now on. One of the conditions of this pardon is that you raise them Muggle. They must attend Muggle schools, are not allowed to purchase wands when they reach the proper age, and must be taught to keep their personal magic to a minimum."

"This is absurd," Deidre hissed, still in shock. "Living as Muggles will _ruin_ them! They cannot simply abandon their background-"

"We are not asking you to let them _be_ Muggles," the Minister stated firmly, cutting her off as she glared at the blonde-haired Amelia Bones, "but rather they do not live as wizards. You are still permitted to teach them magical theory, if you see that necessary, and should you wish for them to study Hogwarts textbooks as well, we can have them delivered at the appropriate year, and they may study them from home. However, it can _only_ be practical magic, and if they are caught performing it in front of Muggles, there will be harsh punishments. You must instill that in them as soon as possible."

"This... This is... so cruel-"

"Deidre," Amelia started, her voice a touch softer this time, "this is saving you from a life in the Ministry. Many wished to see you locked up, but this way you can be out in the world, free, and with your children. The Ministry will, of course, monitor you to ensure you follow our conditions, but you will be given your life back again."

"This isn't my life," she muttered, sucking in her cheeks angrily. "This is like a prison sentence. Forever trapped with inept Muggles? Sent to live life as a Squib? To know magic but never use it? Why don't you get rid of our memories then?"

"We see no valid purpose in doing so," an aged wizard to the left of the Minister replied sternly. "You have two wonderful children, Miss Gyden, and I would never recommend taking away their memories. They endure better than we give them credit, I think. This new life will be an adventure for them... Don't you want them to be out there, making friends with people who will not know that their father brutally tormented our world for nearly a decade?"

Deidre stood silent in front of them, her lips pursed together tightly as she fumed.

"It would be selfish," the man continued slowly, "to make them stay here because you cannot possibly fathom to live an existence without using magic for everyday tasks."

A silence settled over the room, and she felt all eyes on her. She chewed her lip, deep in thought, and then sighed, "I... I don't know how to do this."

"You will be taught," Amelia insisted before anyone else could, "and the children will start school in the fall, but will have a Muggle tutor to get their education up to Muggle standards. After all, their children have been in school since they were four... Regan can easily be placed with children that age and start fresh, but Armand will need some tutoring."

"He's very bright," commented one of the analysts from Mungo's, "and I'm sure he will pick it up quickly."

Deidre was silent again, standing like a sulking child before their professor and headmaster. The Minister rolled her eyes, and leaned in just a touch, "This is not a negotiation. These are your terms, Miss Gyden. You can either accept them, or we will find other arrangements that I'm sure you will like a great deal less."

The crisp tone of her voice cracked at the redhead like a whip, and she almost flinched under the weight of it. When asked whether or not she would accept her conditions, her sentence, she merely nodded her head. From that, she was told that she would be escorted back to gather her things and her children, and Amelia would be taking them immediately to their new home. An Auror grasped her upper arm tightly, and led her out of the dark hearing room. She barely noticed the march back to her ward, with her mind a million miles away, and the only thing that could bring her back to reality were the sounds of her children's' voices.

"Is it true, Mother?" Armand inquired, standing in front of a few packed suitcases, traveling cloak in hand, "Are we really moving into our own house?"

No doubt one of the caregivers had filled them in on their future lifestyle before she arrived. Regan looked like a mixture of excitement and nerves as she stood beside her brother, eyes wide, "Is it a big house? I want a big house, Mummy!"

"I'm not in charge of that, darling," she said finally, reaching down and tucking some of her dark hair behind her ears, "but I hope it's giant!"

The girl giggled happily, her nerves slipping away at the thought of getting a huge new space to run around in. Armand frowned, which she noticed, and he inquired in a quiet voice, "Are they going to let us go completely?"

"No, dear," she sighed, watching Regan as she stuffed her bear into her tiny backpack, "but this is the best we're going to get, so you must try to be happy with it."

"Are you?"

"Am I what?"

"Happy?"

Honestly, for an eight year old, he sometimes sounded like he was her age. She smiled gently, and nodded her head, forcing the lie out, "Very happy. We'll all get our own rooms again, I hope, and we get to start over."

"I don't like it when you lie," he whispered, "but it's okay, I guess."

She blinked back her surprise easily, a gesture she was used to making when she dealt with Armand on a one-on-one basis. He marched back to their bags and slung one of the lighter ones over his shoulder, ready to follow her wherever she saw fit to take him. When she gathered up the last of her belongings, the trio were escorted out by the same Auror who had brought her in, and they met up with Amelia and several other Aurors in a small room. The older witch was holding an old book, and when she saw the children, she smiled.

"This is a portkey," she explained, letting them see it as she explained, "and it will take us to your new home. You need to have one hand on it very tight, and another on your mother's cloak. Do you understand?"

They both nodded, and Deidre felt them grasp at her green traveling cloak securely. Several of the Aurors had taken care of their luggage, and without much ceremony or farewell, they were told to grasp the book. Deidre did as she was told, gripping it with both hands as her children clung to her, and before they knew it, they were whirling away into a magical transport vortex.

When they were finally thrown out of it, the small group was standing on a lawn in total darkness. The few streetlamps were flickering weakly at the curb, and as Deidre made sure Regan and Armand were all right, the Aurors shuffled into the house quickly, leaving her outside with Amelia. At that moment, the street lights came back on, and she noted that they were in a very quaint little neighbourhood. It was the farthest thing from metropolitan, and she was sure that was the point. Before them was a singular two story house. It looked right out of a storybook with its white shuttered windows with hedges beneath them, a neatly painted door, and a small garden leading to the sidewalk. Most of the other houses were its duplicate, with a few small changes perhaps here and there, but basically the same.

"It's not giant," Regan complained moodily, shooting a look at both Deidre and Amelia. "Why isn't it giant?"

"Why don't you wait until you see the rooms, Regan," Amelia chuckled, stepping out of the way and motioning toward the front door. "The bedrooms upstairs are quite large, I promise."

The girl looked skeptical, but Armand grasped her hand and began leading her to the house. When they vanished inside the front door, Deidre finally muttered, "So where are we?"

"North England," Amelia replied, "and that's all you need to know for now. We can work out the fine details tomorrow. We've provided furniture... Why don't you settle your children in, and we will all return tomorrow at around noon to give you all the information."

"I don't like this."

"I didn't think you would, but it's the best I can give you."

"Not the house... this deal."

"I wasn't talking about the house, and you know that."

Deidre gave the blonde woman a hard look, to which Amelia pointedly ignored and continued, "It was this or life locked up in the Ministry... I don't think either of us really wanted that."

With the sharply cool breeze nipping at her, she realized just how long it had been since she had been outside freely. Months, it seemed. She had almost forgotten how good it felt to be in the wind. The air smelled cleaner, the colours (even in the dark) were crisper, and she could feel her body starting to relax into the elements once again. Pushing a bit of her hair from her face, she resigned herself to this defeat, for now, and started toward the house without another world to Amelia. When she opened the door, she could hear her two little ones talking noisily at each other as they zoomed around upstairs, arguing about which room was to be theirs. Perhaps this was best for everyone, as much as she hated the idea. However, no one would ever be able to make her admit it, and that was that.


	11. But I don't feel blue, like I always do

_**FLASHBACK 1987**_

"Mum, you're being totally unfair!"

Deidre glared into the steaming mug of coffee before her, casually mixing in some milk as her daughter ranted about just how _unfair_ she was being. Perhaps she was being biased, but Deidre thought she was being perfectly reasonable with all this.

The trio had been living in their home in the suburbs of Newcastle for four years at this point. While the house and lifestyle had grown on the children, just as the Ministry said it would, Deidre was still completely unsatisfied with her new lifes. It was lovely to not have to pay bills, yes, and her funds from before had been enough when combined with her Ministry allowance to pay for food and clothing and other necessities that the children might need. So far, she had not needed to get a job, and focused wholeheartedly on developing herself as a good Muggle woman. It was degrading, but she did it. After careful tutoring in the first few months, the children soon began to accept their lifestyle. Armand was distraught, at first, over the notion that he would never be able to use magic again, but when he learned that he could still learn theory on his own time, he settled a bit more. Regan had barely begun to develop as a witch, and the transition wasn't quite as awkward.

Being tutored by Ministry officials had been enough to make her want to end everything. However, living as a Muggle was not as difficult as she thought it would be. She had been used to cleaning and cooking, sometimes with or without magic, in her old life, and doing so now without magic wasn't a huge stretch. Armand spent a great deal of time catching up on his Muggle schooling, which he seemed to relish. Any chance to learn something new always kept him on his toes. They weren't old enough yet to fully understand how disgusting it was to live surrounded by Muggles, though as they grew, a fraction of their parents' resentment toward the Muggle kind remained, which always pleased their mother.

Regan integrated into school easily. She began when she was five, while all her peers were four, but that only made her status as a popular and outgoing girl higher. The girl became the centre of attention quickly, and although she wasn't all that good in her studies, she managed to scrape by with each passing year. Armand, on the other hand, was dubbed "weird" by his classmates at first. He was quiet, always reading, and asking his teachers if there was anything he could do for extra credit, even though he was exceptionally talented in nearly all of his classes. He was the subject of bullying for a little bit, though now that he was in Year 8 at his all boys school in the city, he had managed to get a group of friends that were similar to his personality. They were all the victims of bullying still, but at least he wasn't alone. Deidre had been into the school on countless occasions to try and sort it out, but these Muggles were still far too lenient on their children, and her son's bullies were never really punished. All she wanted was a wand and five minutes alone with each of them, and she could have set them straight.

It had been a bit of a tough year for Armand. Seeing as he was now twelve, he had spent the previous year quite upset that he wasn't allowed to attend Hogwarts. Although he had been told many times that they could have no contact with their old world, Deidre suspected that somewhere deep down he had hoped that they would give him a chance to prove that he wasn't his father. A letter had come from Dumbledore, stating that although Armand could not attend school, his textbooks would still be sent, and the boy was free to write to him anytime he wished if he had questions about the material. Her old headmaster knew Deidre was a complete mess when it came to magical theory, and it was a relief to know that she wouldn't have to teach the boy herself. When the textbooks arrived, Armand took all the covers off and replaced them with the covers of Muggle books, and brought them everywhere with him. He was quite fond of potions, and any other class that explained the magical attributes of certain unsuspecting items. He was depressed on and off, unfortunately, that he could only learn these in theory. However, whenever they went out to the country for family days or hikes, Deidre would be sure to get him to bring his Herbology book along, and they would scour the countryside for plants that matched those mentioned in the book. Whenever they found them, Armand was allowed to keep them.

Regan didn't particularly care that Armand got to study magic and she didn't, mostly because her older brother usually talked at her about useless facts that he was learning. Theory was boring to her. It was boring in her all girls Muggle school, and she had yet to see what was so interesting about magical theory. Couldn't be much different, right? Deidre usually told her quick little spells that were helpful with certain things, and the girl seemed interested for a while, but would slowly tune her out for something more fascinating, like a new magazine. The girl tended to have a lot of friends over on weekends, and Deidre couldn't count the number of evenings she had tried to keep eight or so girls happy in front of their new Muggle television set – ghastly thing – and prepare food, keep all the pet snakes around the house out of sight, and ensure Armand wasn't tormented by his sister's friends whenever he showed himself. Perhaps this was what all mothers went through, but she had never expected it to be this hard.

The street that she lived on had friendly enough people. Her immediate neighbours were always cordial and kind when they ran into each other. On one side there was a retired couple, and Deidre would occasionally find herself watching them enviously as they went for their evening walks, hands clasped together. On the other side, there was a family of six. Bit loud when all six of them were there, and matters weren't made better that there were three teenage boys and one girl living with their parents. The kids were a little snotty sometimes, but Regan had made friends with the daughter, who was only a year older and went to the same school. Deidre was on speaking terms with Alice, the wife of the household, and came to her with carefully disguised questions whenever certain strange Muggle attributes vexed her.

The house itself wasn't terrible either. It was spacious enough for the three individuals within it to exist comfortably. On the lower level, there was a kitchen combined with a sitting room, and a more formal dining hall on the other side of a thick wooden staircase. Upstairs, there were two small bathrooms and three bedrooms. Deidre had the largest with an ensuite, while her children shared the single one down the hall, and had opposite bedrooms on either side of the narrow hallway. Over time, they had come to decorate it to their liking, though the basic furniture that the Ministry had given them could still be seen in the foundations. Out back was a rather small backyard and a little cement terrace, along with a door that led to a cellar below the house. Most Muggles used it for food stuffs and whatnot, but Deidre generally shoved unwanted items down there for good.

Despite all the good in her world, she hated it. She hated being away from her old friends, who she hadn't heard from in years. She hated that the Ministry did monthly checks on her still. She hated not having a wand, and being unable to perform wandless magic without alerting one of her keepers. She hated that her children had made friends with filthy Muggles. She hated that she had to walk to the grocery, and sometimes carry all the heavy bags back by herself. She hated cars. She hated Muggle men and their ridiculous flirtations. She hated Muggle technology, as much as it was slowly getting better. She hated the teachers at her children's schools. She hated that she had yet to find a single magical being in Newcastle, despite the size of the city; they had to be around here somewhere. She hated that her neighbours always brought her presents and freshly baked goods for the slightest of holidays, including the Summer Solstice. There were so many things to hate, and Deidre sometimes felt like it consumed her completely. She sat around the house for who knows how many hours in a day on the days where she had no errands to run, and she fumed. It was so hard to let go of the hate, no matter how hard she tried.

The hate she was feeling at that moment, though not as strong a hate that she used for everything else, was at her daughter's persistence to get her ears pierced. She had just cleaned up their breakfast dishes, and while Armand was getting his things ready to catch the bus to school, Regan simply wouldn't let the issue go.

"So many girls have them done now," she pushed, her arms folded irritably across her chest. "I look stupid without them!"

"You look respectable without them," Deidre replied and nodded at her tie, "and fix your tie. I'm not sending you to school looking like a mess."

"I look fine," her daughter grumbled, absently pulling her tie up completely. The uniform was hideous, but she had always thought Regan was pretty enough to not look like a complete disaster in it. Armand, on the other hand, usually had to have his pants lengthened by a tailor. The shirts were usually too baggy, and he simply looked too tall and too skinny most of the time. Regan had once expressed being embarrassed to ride the bus with him because of his outer appearance, which earned her a week of washing the dishes.

"All the girls have them!" she continued to whine as Deidre grabbed a rag and began cleaning bits of toast off the table.

"All the girls your age?" Deidre remarked skeptically, shooting her daughter a look, "Or do the older ones have them, and you'd like to look like the older girls?"

Regan's dark eyes narrowed, "_No_! I just look like a baby without them! Some girls even have two earrings in now!"

"In both ears?"

"Yes!"

"How absurd. There's no way I'm letting you do that."

"Why not?"

"Because you're better than that!" Deidre snapped, exasperated by her constant defiance. She wasn't even a teenager yet, and she was already argumentative, "You have to remember who you are, and where you come from, Regan. These filthy Muggles can pierce whatever they want, but it's ridiculous to want to be like them."

"You don't understand _anything_," Regan whined with a bit of a foot stomp. "I'll just go get them done without you!"

"Ah," she snorted, tossing the rag into the sink, "with what money?"

"I can save!"

"And I can stop giving it to you."

The two stared at each other, neither wanting to be the first to look away and lose this fight. She could see angry tears starting to well in her daughter's eyes, the same that sprung up whenever the girl didn't get something that she wanted. She was so much like her father at times it was ridiculous. He too became a petulant child when something wasn't going his way, and that trait had been passed straight down to Regan.

"You're being mean."

"And you're being frustrating," Deidre replied pointedly, "_and_ you're going to miss the bus. We can talk about it later."

"No! I want to-"

Before she could finish her whine, all the windows in the kitchen shattered noisily, causing glass to cascade both in and out of the house. Deidre stepped away from the two that burst in front of the sink, narrowly avoiding being covered in tiny shards, and then turned back to her daughter. Regan's face had gone from combative to horrified, and the few tears that had started to form in anger rolled down her face in distress.

"I'm sorry! I'm sorry, I didn't mean to!" she wailed, her eyes wide as she surveyed the damage her magic had done to the room. Deidre heard Armand's footsteps rushing down the staircase, and in a flash he was in the room. He looked at Deidre, then to Regan, and vanished back into the hallway, only to reemerge with a broom in hand. Both children knew the consequences of using their magic, even accidentally; someone from the Ministry would be there shortly.

"Shh," Deidre soothed, stepping around the table and pulling her daughter in. Regan wrapped her arms around her waist, still crying and apologizing profusely.

"It was an accident!"

"Darling, I know," Deidre sighed, pulling her back gently to wipe the tears away with her thumbs. "You were angry, and these things happen to young witches and wizards... Don't you worry about a thing."

"But-"

"It's all right, you don't have to explain," she continued, readjusting the girl's uniform absently and smoothing down a few stray hairs from her high ponytail, "just go put on your shoes and catch the bus before you miss it. Armand," she turned back to her son, who had swept one side of the kitchen into a neat pile, "that's not necessary... Thank you, but I'll clean it up."

He nodded and leaned the broom against the counter, then beckoned to his sister, "Come on, Regan. We've got to go."

After giving them each a quick kiss farewell, Deidre stood silently in the kitchen to take in all the damage. There were four windows; two over the sink, and one facing the outer walls of the house on each side. All of them were broken, and the floor was covered in tiny pieces of glass. She could hear Armand consoling Regan at the door as they gathered their things, and assured her that every witch or wizard would do it at some point in their life before they started at Hogwarts, and it was all perfectly normal. She smiled weakly, pleased that her son could always keep a level head in situations like these.

As she stepped across the tiled floor, her slippers making the glass crack beneath her feet, she heard the distinct sound of someone apparating into her formal living room. She ignored them, grabbed the broom and began moving all the glass into a singular pile in the corner.

"And what happened here?"

"You really didn't need to come, Amelia," Deidre sighed, recognizing the patronizing tone before she turned back to look at her visitor. "Regan was upset. It happens."

"It's happened a lot over the past few years," the Ministry official stated. "We might have to do something about it soon."

"They're children," Deidre sneered, turning back to look at the older woman with such hate that the other witch straightened a touch, "both of whom are nearing the proper magical age to start training their power. Armand has had numerous instances like this, and Regan is nearly ten... They are going to happen, and we've simply got to start managing the outbursts."

"I trust you'll have a firmer grip on them next time then?" Amelia inquired, smoothing down the front of her black robes. Deidre ground her teeth together irritably, hating the fact that some other woman was telling her how to proper manage her children, and continued to sweep without a response. She heard some rustling behind her, and looked back to see Amelia retrieve her wand. In an instant, all the windows had been replaced, the shards were off the floor, and it looked as though no disaster had happened.

"I understand this is difficult for you..."

It took Deidre a moment to realize what she had said, as she had been staring at Amelia's wand resentfully. When she finally tuned back into the conversation, she arched an eyebrow, "Do you? I suppose you live like this every day then... No magic, no nothing, right?"

"You're doing better than you give yourself credit for," the witch admitted with a small smile. "It's time to stop being so negative about it and see your positives."

"Oh yes, I'll be sure to give that a try!" Deidre remarked in a falsely cheerful tone which had strong undertones of blatant sarcasm. The blonde rolled her eyes and then sighed, as though she was working with a student who simply refused to behave in class, and then vanished from sight. At least there hadn't been too many threats of severe consequences, but she still hated it when they sent Amelia. The woman seemed to always be there when Deidre was at her weakest.

Shaking her head, she snatched up the tied garbage bag near the door of the kitchen and began to haul it out toward the front door. When she stepped outside, she regretted doing so in only a bathrobe with nothing but a long t-shirt underneath. It was late September, and the weather was already taking a turn for the worse. No sun, either. Fantastic start to the day. The metal can rattled noisily as she lifted the lid and stuffed the rather smelly bag of trash inside, and she jumped when a voice suddenly permeated her thoughts.

"Everything all right at the Gyden household?"

"Fine, Alice," she replied the best she could as she slammed the lid down on the garbage can. She folded her arms over her chest to keep her purple bathrobe closed, and absently pushed some loose strands from her messy bun back behind her ears. "Everything's just fine."

"I thought I heard a window smash," she stated, sidling up to the paint-chipping fence that divided their yards, "and I thought I'd make sure some little bugger hasn't been throwing rocks at windows again. They strike round school season, you know? Angry to be back."

"Ah," she forced out, nodding her head. "Yes, well... No, one window did shatter. Kids throwing a ball around before school started. But I cleaned it up and it shouldn't be too expensive to replace."

"My Tom could come do that for you," she insisted, grinning at the thought of her older husband helping out. "He's real handy."

Deidre gave the shorter, much plumper little woman a look over, and then smiled as brightly as she could force, "Oh, no. I'd like the children to pay for it... Teach them a lesson and all."

"Good girl," the woman grinned, nodding her head in approval. "Got to get them in line while they're little like yours are. My Sadie is sweet as can be, but the boys are a lost cause."

As if on cue, her three boys can barreling out of the house, uniforms all a mess, and rushed down the walkway and out the little front gate. Clearly late. Ron, the eldest, paused a moment to give his mum a quick peck on the cheek, and then turned his attention on Deidre. It all happened in a split second, but she saw his eyes go from her exposed legs to her breasts, then back again, and then gave her a wink. Repulsed, she kept her features as neutral as possible, and then cleared her throat, "Well. Best be off to get the day started."

"Right, just let me know if you need anything further!"

She waved her arm lazily to acknowledge that she had heard the woman, and then stepped inside quickly, shutting the door behind her and locking it. Filthy little Muggle pervert. Ugh. She shivered dramatically in disgust, and found herself slowly meandering back toward the kitchen. There wasn't really anything on her agenda for the day, which was disappointing, because it wasn't even nine in the morning yet and she already felt bored and stressed.

Her coffee, which she had been looking forward to, had gone cold by now. If she had a wand, she could have reheated it in an instant, but now it was wasted. However, as she stood there in front of a once broken pair of windows, replaying the morning's events in her head, she realized there was something much better in the kitchen to drink than coffee to calm her nerves. Arching an eyebrow, she casually sauntered to her cabinet and retrieved a perfectly polished wine glass, and soon found herself rummaging around her wine rack for something delicious and red.

Hell, it had to be happy hour somewhere, right?


	12. Chat with you baby, flirt a little maybe

_**FLASHBACK 1990 **_

Oh goodness. Deidre stared at her blank television set in a drunken haze, adoring the way tequila made every limb feel numb. She found, wonderfully, over time that she had built up a tolerance to the stuff, and it took longer, and more alcohol, to get this drunk. Definitely made the days seem shorter. The woman usually began her drinking once Regan had left for school, seeing as she and Armand now took different buses to attend their new schools, which left at different times. Once she had the house to herself, it was whatever vice that took hold of her for the morning that she would drown herself in. The children were usually at school until 4 o'clock. If Deidre wasn't too drunk, she could usually stop herself around noon or so, then sleep until 3:30, and after a few cups of coffee and some Muggle medication, she would be pretty functional when Regan and Armand returned home.

This routine had started slowly a few years ago. She had picked up a part time job two years ago at a small bakery, where she worked at the front counter three times a week for about six hours a day. As much as she hated the Muggle interaction, it was nice to get out of the house. Plus, with her working, the Ministry was so pleased with her "initiative" toward a new life that they upped her allowance. So that, coupled with the money she was making now, meant the children were definitely spoiled much more with useless Muggle material goods. Armand was neutral on the issue, but Regan simply loved all the extra income, and the two finally bonded more over their girls only shopping trips in the city centres. Her habit of drinking during the day began gradually enough. The days that she wasn't working, she might have a glass of wine or two while the children were away. It made the time tick by faster, and she never felt quite as bored when she had some alcohol in her system.

It wasn't a particularly good habit, she knew. However, whenever she was in her world of relaxation and no cares, nothing else really seemed to matter. She could stop hating herself for moving on with her life and living around people she hated. She didn't have to think about the fact that she served Muggles day in and day out. She didn't have to remind herself that her children were growing up with these people, making close bonds with them, and would perhaps one day soon start to form romantic attachments to them. No, when she drank, all the strain and ridiculousness of her life went away. Did the children know about her drinking? She assumed Armand had his suspicions, and whenever he had a hunch about something, both of them knew he was correct. However, at this point, neither of them had ever said anything to her.

Deidre had slowly changed. Nothing too abrupt, thankfully, but she was a different woman now than she had been before the Ministry took her in. She wasn't as strict with her rules, nor did she put as much time into her appearance. She was still a bit of a waif, thanks to years of unhappiness, and her skin had a continuous unhealthy glow to it, but she ignored that. Her hair was still vibrant and usually kept at shoulder length, her eyes were still clear, and she kept her nails neat, but her dress was much less form-fitted and flattering. Sometimes Regan would comment on her appearance, but after a few firm talks from Armand, the fashionista let her mother's looks pass, so long as they weren't too "dreadful".

Her drinking didn't really affect her outside of that small timeslot during the day. She still did everything her children needed; picked them up with the new car they had purchased, take them to dinners, cook meals at home, rent movies, allow them to have countless friends over and entertain them all to the best of her ability... Deidre was still a capable woman. However, she needed her mid-morning to afternoon period of inebriation in order to be capable the rest of the time.

However, with them gone, everything was a lot easily. She was currently sprawled out on her touch, half a bottle of tequila gone, as the warm June sun breathed life into the formal living room. It was getting close to eleven in the morning, and she had been drinking pretty solidly since around eight. The tequila had been a companion to her late breakfast after a rushed morning; neither of her teens had woken to their alarms after a decidedly late night of movies and popcorn. So, she wasn't really able to be frustrated with them, since they were all at fault for being up so late, but it was still a mad panic to get everyone ready and out the door by the time their buses rolled around up the street. Once they were gone, it was a fried egg and alcohol on the couch in her baggy sweatshirt and jeans. Her hair was swept up in a loose bun, and her bare feet were currently entertaining her as she wiggled her toes; they were a nice contrast to the dark TV behind them.

She giggled softly, quite pleased as her toes danced for her. However, her entertainment was cut short when the resounding call of the doorbell caught her attention. Frowning, she glanced at the clock, and with no appointment ringing a bell in her mind, she stumbled to her feet, and somehow made it to the front door without tripping over anything. She cleared her throat, pushed her fallen bits of hair out of her face drunkenly, and then pulled the door open as she kicked a spare pair of shoes out of the way.

"Deidre?"

She stared blankly at the man in front of her. He was tall, had light blond hair pulled back into a ponytail, and was wearing the oddest fashions for a Muggle... After blinking a few times and giving him a once over, a flicker of recognition passed across her face, and her lips cracked in a rather giddy smile, "Lucius? Get in! Get in before the M-Muggles see you like that!"

She grasped his sleeve and pulled him into the house. Well, she sort of stumbled backward, tripping a bit on the throw rug at her feet, and then darted around him to shut the door. With that accomplished – a feat in itself – she threw her arms around him, a familiar scent of his cologne wafting up her nose. He was a little stiff at first, and then gave her a meager hug back and a few pats, "Deidre... Are you drunk?"

"Me?" she trilled, stepping back from him in a mixture of excitement and intoxication, "No! Well... A l-little, but I'm still me, you know? Some people drink and they go all crazy and not themselves, but I'm still me!"

"It's eleven in the morning..." he muttered. She gazed up into his face, which had aged but was as handsome as ever, and she noted that he was trying very hard to mask his shock and disapproval with the state that he found her in. Who the Hell was he to judge her? He didn't know anything about what she was going through! Sucking in her cheeks in irritation, she stumbled around him as he shimmied out of his summer traveling cloak and started her mismatched march back into the living room.

"How'd you find me, anyway?" she demanded as she plunked down ungraciously onto the couch, "N-Nobody's found me in years!"

"You sent us a letter," he explained slowly as he too took a seat on the couch, hands folded in his lap, "and we've only just received it. Your owl was a little... wild."

"I didn't..." she trailed off suddenly, a memory replaying in her mind. She had taken the kids to an animal sanctuary in the country for one of their family days. Both of them were getting more and more reluctant to waste a free day on family time, but Deidre had guilted them into coming with little difficulty. When they arrived at the bird ranges, she had something else in mind. While Regan and Armand were studying some peacocks, Deidre had managed to persuade an owl to land on her hand, and before he could fly away, she latched a note sloppily to his leg, and then sent him off with plain directions to the Malfoy Manor. She hadn't been sure, at the time, if this was a magical owl or not, but she had hoped that because it came to her without much of a struggle, it would serve her purpose.

However, this had all happened... Merlin knows how many months ago. Perhaps even last year. She had forgotten about it completely, and assumed that someone had caught the owl, or it wasn't magical in the slightest, and had only come to her because she had coaxed it ever so nicely. Now, thankfully, she can come to terms that it was just a dim owl that took a little longer to find things than the rest of them. A small grin touched her lips as she silently thanked the bird; it had given her more than she could have ever hoped for.

"Well, I'm glad it finally found you," she giggled, shrugging off her earlier concerns of him judging her, "because I've been very lonely, Lucius. You... you know no idea what it's been like."

"I can only imagine," he sighed, shaking his head. "It's preposterous that they've done this to you."

"The children seem to like it, actually," Deidre mused. "They've all got Muggle friends and crushes and whatnot... and... and it's horrifying, really."

"And you?"

Deidre paused and shot the man beside her on the couch a rather disappointed frown, "You think I'm out there fraternizing with them? C-Coming round for tea in the afternoons?"

She snorted loudly and rolled her eyes. That should answer that. Lucius sighed as he studied her sitting room, taking in every detail in his usual calculated manner. He hadn't really changed all that much. His hair was longer, his face a little more weathered, but Deidre noticed he still sat with rigid posture, chewed on his inner cheek when he was in thought, and still carried an air of superiority around with him.

"I'm lost out here, Lucius," she whispered, leaning in a bit closer to him. "You cannot even fathom what it's b-been like living like scum for so many years. I can't even remember what it's like to cast a spell."

His eyes met hers, and she could see the pity in them, and at that moment she hated everything about Lucius Malfoy. He had been right up there with her, struggling when her husband fell, and yet he escaped perfectly, while Deidre (who had done nothing, mind you!) was forced into this humiliating exile.

"I'm sorry," he muttered, his tone indicating more remorse than pity. "I'm sorry I didn't get to Diagon sooner."

"I haven't held a grudge."

"Well, I've hated myself since then... You don't deserve this."

She snorted loudly again, "Really? I thought I was l-living a _just _penance!"

The clock over the television set chimed noisily, causing them both to jump. It was eleven, and she could feel her tequila buzz starting to fade a little bit. Damn it, Lucius. Always a buzz kill! She snickered softly to herself, pleased at her own private joke, and then leaned forward, grasping somewhat blindly for the tequila bottle. Couldn't let it go to waste!

"Drink?" she inquired sloppily, swinging the bottle back in between them from its position on the coffee table. The man looked somewhat put off, and she raised her eyebrows accusingly, "I've suffered, Lucius! When I ask you for something... you o-ought to give it to me!"

"One drink won't hurt, I suppose," he sighed, glancing out the window, no doubt to make sure no one was peaking in to watch him drink this early in the morning. Deidre was beyond caring what the neighours thought of her at this point. Most of them had pegged her as a drunk after a few early morning encounters with (or without) a little night dress on. They had been kind enough not to make references in front of her children, for which she was mildly grateful. She'd never put herself in the debt of a Muggle... No thanks.

With a rather embarrassing lack of grace, Deidre managed to find a glass in the kitchen and make it back into the sitting room without face-planting anywhere; an accomplishment. Lucius, naturally, tried to slow her pouring as she filled his glass nearly to the rim with her favourite brand of tequila, but she had ignored his protests. He would probably seem less tense if he had some alcohol in him. Even in her drunken state, she was perceptive enough to realize that he felt uncomfortable around her. She couldn't quite understand why; perhaps it was the guilt that was eating at him. Otherwise, she couldn't fathom why he wouldn't enjoy seeing her again! They had been such close friends at one point... Of course people grow a part, but she had thought that if she ever saw any of them again, they all would have slipped back into their old routines without a glitch. After all, none of them had decided that Deidre had to leave; she was forced out. Therefore, no one was at fault, and no one should feel silly.

Silly, silly, silly.

"My god, Deidre," he gasped suddenly after his first sip. "Tequila? Really? This is hardly a social drink."

"Well, I wasn't being _social_ before you arrived, _Lucius_."

He shot her a look, and then at her urging took another sip. The woman smirked at his wince when the liquid slid down his throat. Clearly he was no longer accustomed to hard alcohol. Most parents gave it up when their children reached a certain age that wouldn't allow them to get drunk anymore. Suppose Deidre was doing this all backwards. Regardless, it seemed like Deidre could hold her tequila better at this point, which had to be a bonus. After Lucius had finished his glass (at a ridiculously slow rate, she might add!), she poured him another one, promising only one more. It was a bit sad drinking alone, and now that she finally had a partner, she felt like it was only proper that he continued to keep her company in an equally drunken state.

Once the alcohol made its way into his system, the conversation flowed much easier. For a while it mostly consisted of Deidre's life, and what the children were doing. He was very curious to hear how they had grown up, and she recalled that Lucius was particularly fond of Armand when he was a boy. The talk then shifted into the Malfoy background, and she listened intently (as intently as one can when the world is swimming) as Lucius expressed his current frustration with Narcissa. When the woman came up in conversation, Deidre had to interrupt for a moment, and demanded to know why her best of friends hadn't come with him to find her. Apparently, Lucius had kept the letter secret, fearing it was a false one, and he had also been concerned that the two women might have grown so drastically different that a reuniting after all these years may have been a disaster for that very reason. So, he wanted to preserve the memory that they had, so long as the letter had been real.

Fair enough.

Anyway. Lucius continued with his tales of annoyances that were building up within the once perfect marriage. He still adored his wife with every fibre in his body, but naturally things were starting to eat at the pair. The most recent conflict, he explained, was the argument about where Draco should go to school. Narcissa had been horrified at the man's suggestion that Draco attend Durmstrang. Deidre vaguely understood his reasoning for it; it was a strictly pureblood school, taught by men and the occasional woman who shared the Malfoy patriarch's view of their world. His wife, unfortunately, thought that was too far away for Draco to be during the year, and wanted him to attend Hogwarts instead.

Although she still ached over the loss of her husband, Deidre was quite pleased that she never had to fight anyone over her choices for the children. Sometimes they might have an opinion, but seeing as Deidre was the only parent around, she would have the final say. The Malfoy argument certainly wasn't something to end a marriage over, but it had been going on for months, apparently, and was causing quite a rift between them. Deidre was decidedly quiet on the matter, mostly because she agreed with Narcissa. She certainly wouldn't want her babies so far away from home. Boarding school was hard enough, and the idea of them going somewhere in a completely different country was reason to drive any mother a little crazy.

Four large glasses down, and Deidre was pleased to see that Lucius was probably sloshed. His speech became less articulate, hand gestures a little wilder, and his eyes somewhat less focused.

"You're a bloody lightweight drinker, Malfoy," she snorted finally as he struggled to set his empty glass down on the coffee table. A cheeky grin appeared on his lips, and he let out a triumphant "Aha!" when he finally managed to set his glass down without dropping it. Again... accomplishments all round today.

"I can't believe you got me pissed before noon on a weekday," he managed to get out as he flopped back down on the couch beside her, their hands touching slightly at their sides. "H-How often do you do this?"

"You really want to know?" Deidre whispered, leaning in a touch and brushing some hair from her face. He nodded as he inched closer, as though this was the juiciest secret he had ever heard. The woman could barely contain herself, and although she tried to whisper her response as saucily as she had done before, nothing about the way she said it sounded saucy or composed in the slightest, "Every single day!"

As clumsy as her answer sounded, somehow it had pleased Lucius, and he released a great deal of booming laughter until he had doubled over, tears clinging to the outskirts of his eyelids. Thankfully he wasn't some angry drunk... just one that laughed at every single little thing that someone else said, interesting or not. They were always fun drunks.

"I should... I should sneak you and the children out of here," Lucius insisted once he had settled. He was back his former position on the couch, their hands touching lightly and his head resting on the back next to hers. "After all... this... _this_ is hardly a place for a woman like you!"

"A woman like me?"

"Yes!"

Deidre frowned, and then propped herself up on her shoulder, eyebrow arched, "And what k-kind of woman am I, Lucius?"

"Someone who deserves so much more in life than what she got," he replied softly. The redhead smiled weakly as he reached forward, one finger gingerly tracing an outline on her cheek. It had been so long since she had been this close to a man, so long since anyone had even really touched her. Gone were any thoughts about this being Lucius Malfoy, a man who was married to her once best friend. She barely entertained the notion that she would never, ever have done any of this if she had been sober, nor did she consider her deceased husband's potential feelings on the matter. All she could do with herself at that moment was kiss him.

It was nothing too much, at first. Their lips met lightly, tentatively, and he cupped her cheek with care. His lips were different. She hadn't really kissed many men in her life, but these lips were different than the last pair of lips she had kissed. They were thinner, but the kiss was determined. It wasn't just to tease; there was a purpose to it now. The hand on her cheek became firmer, and he suddenly wrapped his arm around her lower back, hauling her thin frame onto his lap. The kissing might have been a little better matched had they both been a little less drunk, but for now neither noticed. Her hands had moved from his shoulders to his hair, tugging at it heatedly as he grasped the base of her rather unflattering sweater, and then yanked it up and off. Her breath was shaky when he moved from her lips to her neck, firm kisses lining her skin as one hand pulled her hair free from its constraints and another wandered the sensitive skin on her back.

It was perfect. She hadn't felt desire like this for anyone in years. When she felt him nibble lightly on the curve of her neck she whimpered his name in response, quite eager to let him do whatever he pleased at that very moment. However, it was also at that very moment that her words had a sobering effect on both of them. He ceased his actions suddenly, and Deidre eased herself back on his lap, a hand over her mouth and eyes wide with shock. What were they doing? He seemed a bit concerned for a moment, but after she somehow wiggled off him and back onto the couch, realization hit.

"Deidre-"

"I-I'm so sorry," she murmured, shaking her head. Everything was still muddled with alcohol, but some small part of her wanted to be completely sober again. How could she do that? It felt brilliant, of course, and had he not been that drunk, perhaps things might have taken off a bit more... But thankfully it hadn't. She never would have been able to forgive herself had she slept with Lucius, a married man to a woman she used to love more than anyone. It would have been a horrible mistake for him, too, and they both knew it.

"I should go..." he muttered, a hand on his forehead, "Perhaps when we are both in a b-better condition-"

"Don't come back, Lucius," she said as firmly as she could muster while swimming in tequila. "It's n-not fair to me, or you, or my children... It's not fair to see my world again and not be able to g-go back to it. I'm sorry I wrote you... but please don't come back."

He eased himself off the couch gracelessly, and then leaned down to plant a kiss on her forehead. Silence followed until she heard him turn the doorknob, and he bid her a stiff farewell. And then he was gone. He had enough sense, thankfully, not to apparate in the house. She simply couldn't deal with the Ministry today. Hopefully he wouldn't do it in front of any Muggles either, but for now she wasn't concerned with that. All she could do now was weep. She so rarely cried when drunk that she forgot what it felt like. Everything hurt. She curled up on the couch, hugging her sweater close to her body, and sobbed until she fell into a drunken coma.


	13. Does your mother know?

_**FLASHBACK 1993 **_

If there was one thing Deidre hated more than going to work, it was being called in by one of her children's headmasters for a "talk". This time, it was for Regan. Actually, most of the time it was for Regan. Armand rarely misbehaved at school, and seeing as he was now eighteen and almost ready to finish with his Muggle studies, it was for the best that he kept his grades high and nose out of trouble. He wanted to go to a medical college once he was finished with his final years of school, and Deidre thought it was a fine aspiration to have. She had given up on her children ever doing something magical with their lives, and was pleased to hear that Armand wanted to go into a respectable career. He essentially wanted to be a Healer, and it was thrilling to hear from all his professors that he had what it took to get into some of the better schools around the United Kingdom, so long as he didn't royally fuck up his final marks. Therefore, he knew it was wise to behave, both academically and socially. No black marks on his record so far, and he wasn't about to go after them now.

Regan, on the other hand, had no real ambitions in the Muggle world. The notion pleased Deidre in the same way it pleased her that Armand wished to use his strong intellect; why should Regan belittle herself the way Deidre had by working in the service industry? With her grades, there was a very slim chance the girl would get into a higher education that would benefit her in the future, so why bother? It was a bleak outlook, sure, but the Ministry was still funding the family, and money was never a real concern.

Her daughter was very popular at school; how could she not be? She had grown into an attractive teen, sometimes too old for her age, but she was outgoing, interested in theatre and sports, and knew how to work a social scene with ease. She had been in trouble before, naturally, because there was a good deal of fighting between her and other girls who did not appreciate just how popular Regan had come to be over time. Not real fights, but girl fights... Deidre had been in a few during her years at Hogwarts, and she knew that girls could be cruel, but Regan could top them every single time. Sometimes she wished her daughter wasn't so vindictive, but to her family she was a saint in every respect, and that was all that mattered. She took Armand shopping to update his looks, and helped around the house without complaining. The pair still weren't as close as other mother-daughter couples out there, but they got along just fine, and Deidre felt confident that should the girl need to talk to her, she would. Therefore, Deidre was more than willing to look past all her snootiness and downright mean behaviour toward her peers; they were only Muggles, after all.

It was more of a hassle than anything to go in to see Regan's headmaster. He was a young for someone in his position – maybe his early thirties – and seemed to think the best approach to handling problems was talking them through. Thoroughly talking them through. With the parents. Although he could occasionally come up with some good points, most of the time Deidre simply didn't care. She never really came down hard on Regan for tormenting Muggles, so the headmaster's speeches were just a waste of her time. Naturally, the actress would smile and nod, shake her head when appropriate, and shoot Regan a few disappointed looks when she knew the man was watching. Then they would leave, and her daughter would tell her everything that had happened, and the pair would laugh about it.

Three years ago, Deidre wouldn't have been able to come into school on a whim. Three years ago, she realized that her use of alcohol to combat her inner hatred of... well, everything, was getting to be too much. Perhaps it was the incident with Lucius that sparked it... perhaps not. She never told a soul about it, and once she had sobered up from that day's events, she tossed the majority of her alcohol out. However, she knew it would kill her emotionally to cut it all out completely, and went off the hard liquor to wines, and eventually that dwindled down to a glass a week. Now, she only drinks for special occasions, and although he never said anything, she suspected Armand was quite pleased with the new development.

Clad now in a pair of light blue slacks and a white over-sized dress shirt, Deidre marched down the hallway of Regan's school's administration wing with a bored expression on her face. Although all of the schools her children had attended were adequate, they would never compare to Hogwarts. Nothing ever could, really, and she barely liked the school as a teen. These schools were too... modern. Perhaps it was her inner witch coming out, but she preferred the ancient look when it came to teaching. Although that might have been because _her_ subjects were ancient and perfected, whereas classes like Drawing and Citizenship were just... ridiculous. No wonder Regan barely put an effort into her studies.

With a sigh, she pushed open the door to the headmaster's reception area, smiled stiffly at the secretary when the older woman informed her she could "go right in", and then mentally prepared herself to deal with another round of pointless bullshit. Running a hand through her lengthy red hair, she stepped into the office, a frown on her lips as she took in all the motivation posters plastered around the room. Merlin, it was insufferable.

Regan was seated in front of the headmaster's desk, as usual, a sour look on her face. Her arms were folded across her chest, her knees were crossed, and her uniform skirt looked a little shorter than it ought to be. She ran a hand through her recently dyed straight black hair. Deidre only just approved of it, and only because the girl's natural colour was a dark enough shade of brown for it to be a less noticeable change. It made her skin a touch paler, but her brown eyes looked crisper when curtained with black hair. Deidre liked it, actually, though she would never admit it to the girl, who followed countless Muggle trends of altering one's body, including piercings, make-up, hair dye, and a recent tattoo of a snake on her inner wrist. That one was a big one... It was incredibly taboo in the Muggle world for a girl to have such a risqué tattoo, but she had done it to honour her ancestry and her father, and that was something that Deidre could have never refused her.

The headmaster, a thin man with a nose too long for his face, was sitting next to her on his desk, as though that would make this meeting a touch more informal.

"Deidre," he greeted, rising for a moment to shake her hand. "So sorry to have to call you in like this. You weren't at work, were you?"

"No, Headmaster Whippet, I wasn't," she replied as pleasantly as she could force, which earned her a smirk from her daughter. "Just doing some housework while I had the day to myself."

"I do love those days," he added with a nod, settling back down on his desk as he motioned for her to sit at the empty chair to his left. "Why don't we begin?"

"Thank you," she sighed as she pulled the chair under her and then set her purse on the floor. "Nothing serious this time, I hope?"

Regan shifted in her chair as Whippet brought his hands up, fingers now resting against his lips as he appeared deep in thought. She shot a look at her daughter, who rolled her eyes subtly and slunk down further into the chair.

"There was an incident this morning in the girls lavatory," the man began after a few pointed moments of silence. "I'm afraid it was a bit more of a ... drastic confrontation than we are used to when it comes to Regan."

"It wasn't my fault!" Regan started, but Deidre cut her off with a frustrated look, and she fell silent.

"Incident?" Deidre repeated, raising her eyebrows, "What sort of incident?"

"Well," he began, crossing his arms over his chest as he gazed at her, "we aren't completely sure what happened, as none of the girls that were present really wish to talk about it. However, from what we've gotten so far is that there was a bit of a spat between Regan-"

"And my friends-"

"Hush," Deidre snapped, shooting her a final look that signified the end of her patience was near. With a nod she urged the headmaster to continue.

"Yes," he cleared his throat, "and her friends, I suppose... Well, there was a confrontation between them and some other girls, and it quickly went from name calling to some light violence... No one was severely injured, but when staff arrived at the lavatory, the place was a mess. Sinks were falling apart, toilet seats broken, a window shattered..."

"Oh my," Deidre forced. He looked as though he had wanted her to comment on it.

"Exactly," he agreed, shaking his head. "The strange thing was... no one had any marks on them. Aside from one girl who had been slapped by Regan's chum, no one was hurt, but the bathroom was an absolute disaster."

"Ah."

Deidre knew exactly what had happened. Regan, now fifteen, was not quite as good as Armand, eighteen, at controlling her magical impulses. Although she studied her Hogwarts texts with her brother, and was very diligent about answering theory questions whenever Deidre tested her, she struggled at getting a grip on her magic when her emotions ran high. And they ran high quite often, unfortunately. If there had been a fight, and Regan had been involved emotionally, then her ability to keep her magic at bay would have been compromised, and when that happened, things shattered.

"As strange as that is, Headmaster," Deidre began, keeping her voice steady as she held eye contact with the man, "I hardly see why it is an issue. Girls are not delicate flowers when they fight... I'm sure someone knocked into someone who knocked into something, or threw something... God only knows what teenagers do these days."

"Yes, but-"

"Did anyone claim Regan struck them?"

"Well, no, it was her friend-"

"Then why am I here, and the other girl's mother is not?"

"Oh, we have a meeting with her afterward," the headmaster replied quickly, "but you are here because many of the girls are terrified that Regan will do something to them, as they... well, they blame her for all the destruction."

"That's preposterous!" Deidre sneered, looking from her daughter to Whippet, "She's one person. There's no way she could have done anything in that nature without the other girls actually seeing anything."

"I understand-"

"No, I don't think you do," she remarked firmly, noting that Regan was grinning again at her side. "My daughter has gotten into a lot of trouble at this school, and I realize that most of the time she is responsible for it... but it is completely biased and unprofessional to use her as a scapegoat because _you_ and your staff cannot figure out what happened in a lavatory at _your_ school between a few teenage girls!"

Whippet fell silent as Deidre stood up, snatched her purse, and then snapped at her daughter, signifying that they were leaving.

"Is she suspended again?"

"In school, this time."

"Good," Deidre sighed, "I'll have her in on time tomorrow to start her sentence. For now, I'm going to take her home."

"I don't see a problem with that."

"Good," she concluded, shaking his hand again forcefully before she ushered Regan out of the office. Hopefully she had scared him enough not to keep her around for another chat, because her quota for Whippet-talk was nearly filled. The amount had gotten smaller and smaller as the years went by with Regan at this school, and she had a sinking suspicion that over time she wouldn't be able to be in the same room with the man. Some parents adored him, but Deidre thought he was absolutely useless.

The two were silent until they were clear of the building. Regan was the first to speak, "I really hate him."

"Something we share in common, darling," Deidre sighed as she jammed her key into her car door lock, then stepped inside. She crawled across to unlock Regan's door, and then tossed her purse in the back seat, "That being said, you really need to watch yourself."

"I know."

"It's completely unfair, I understand," she continued, casting a look Regan's way, "because you haven't been properly trained to control your magic... I'm not angry with you. I would have liked to hear that a piece of sink permanently damaged some filthy Muggle... but that's not the case."

"Unfortunately," Regan snorted as she buckled her seatbelt. The pair exchanged bemused looks, and Deidre carefully backed her car out of the parking space, and then headed for home. She hardly saw a reason to punish Regan severely. It simply wasn't worth it at this point.

"I don't want you picking fights though," she stated, her eyes watching the cars around her as they traveled back the familiar roads to home, "because I can't always just let it go in front of them. They'll think I'm some lenient parent who doesn't care."

"You care," Regan replied absently as she leaned against the window, "but I think you're pretty lenient because we aren't complete fuckups like most of the idiots my age are."

"Language, Regan."

"Fuckups, or idiots?"

"Regan."

The girl gave a laugh, a laugh so similar to her father that it was unnerving at times, and then rolled her eyes, "I know, _Mother_, relax."

"So what did they have you do for most of the day? School's nearly finished."

"Well, the fight happened at lunch," the girl began, picking at her nails as she spoke, "and we all had to sit around for a while after they caught us so they could try to see who they would blame. Or who would talk first... Those Muggle girls were so terrified that I had psychic abilities or some nonsense like that. It was a good laugh, actually."

Deidre was forced to slam on the brakes as a pair of young teens darted out from behind a parked car and across the road. She laid on her horn as hard as she could, and then carried on, shaking her head irritably. Not that she would have minded killing them, but that really wouldn't have looked good on her record. Plus the Ministry would definitely have something to say if the former wife of Lord Voldemort ended up killing Muggles out of the blue.

"So why was there a fight, anyway?" Deidre asked finally after some more light conversation about terrifying Muggles, "Did you instigate?"

"Of course not," the dark-haired teen scoffed. "I usually don't... People think I do because I'm popular and I get associated with that group of girls. But my friend Theresa gave some other girl's boyfriend a wank-"

"What?"

"Don't sound so shocked," Regan giggled. "A lot of people are messing around these days."

"That's awful!"

"I don't do it!" Regan remarked quickly, "But some girls think the only way to get a boy to pay attention to them is to, you know, touch things and let them see things."

"That's really shameful," Deidre remarked, shaking her head. "You're all too young to be doing that nonsense... and I hope you don't take part in it!"

"Don't be ridiculous," Regan snipped. "They're all Muggle boys... It would take someone really, really special to even tempt me to give them a kiss on the cheek."

"Good girl."

"What about you, Mum?"

"Beg your pardon?" Deidre inquired, shooting her daughter a surprised look, "Me?"

"Yeah... You and men. It's been a really long time, you know?"

"Regan!" Deidre laughed, rolling her eyes as the car came to a stop at a light, "That's hardly any of your business."

"Well... Doesn't mean it isn't true."

Was it mildly depressing that your teenage daughter realized you hadn't had sex in Merlin knows how many years? Yes. Yes it was. She had to assume, naturally, since Deidre had never dated anyone since her late husband passed. However, she would have liked to think that her children might assume that she was still... enchanting enough to have a fling with a man. Not that that had actually happened, at all. In fact, at this point, she had almost forgotten what sex was like. Naturally, she found ways to please herself on occasion, but she was not about to fraternize with a Muggle man, so there were really no other options. It was depressing, most of the time, but Deidre tried hard not to think about it. There might be the potential that she would never have sex again. There was a chance, a few years ago, to sleep with Lucius Malfoy, but that would have been such a big mistake... So for now, she'll stick to what she's got; a purple friend that vibrates on command. Sigh.

The car pulled into the driveway a little quicker than she had intended, and the pair departed the old car in favour of the house. It looked like it was going to rain. The previous conversation had been dropped, and they had reverted back to insulting Whippet. It was safe ground, for now, and it always pleased Deidre to hear Regan speak so violently ill of some Muggle who thought they had authority over them. Once inside, she tossed her purse onto the couch in the living room as Regan sauntered into the kitchen, no doubt off to find a snack. Had she missed lunch? She couldn't quite remember.

With her arms folded over her chest, she strolled across the room to take a peek in the large snake habitat that Armand had recently set up. Both children had several snakes as pets, mostly because the fact that they could communicate with them easily made them perfect companions. In the past, the snakes usually lived outside in the garden, but after a few were mauled by some local cats, the teens thought it best to move them inside to keep them out of harm's way. There were six or so in the large glass box, though currently they all seemed to be hidden away in the sticks and brush and little houses that had slowly been added over time.

As she moved closer to inspect the massive container, she heard someone rustling about upstairs. With a frown, she cast a quick look back at the clock and realized that Armand shouldn't have been home from school for another hour or so. With another turn of the head she could see Regan seated at the kitchen table, picking at some pizza leftovers from the night before. Curious.

Slipping out of her shoes, she moved as quietly as she could up the staircase, pausing only once when she heard footsteps coming from behind Armand's closed door. Was he skipping classes? Shocking behaviour, seeing as he had always kept a perfect attendance record. Though, she did recall he had a free period at some point during the day, so perhaps he had planned to use it to come home. Or perhaps there was a robber in the house, and he was trying to find something of value in her son's room. Whatever it was, she certainly couldn't let some unexplained noise carry on without a bit of investigation.

As she leaned in close to the door, she frowned. There was some sort of faint noise emanating from the room, but it was so soft that she couldn't quite figure it out. Although she didn't really like snooping around in her teens' stuff, sometimes it was necessary to make sure they weren't getting into any sort of trouble. They had had enough of that in their lives, thank you very much! So, with the intention to only investigate the source of the previous noises (and perhaps punish a school-skipping teenage boy), she placed her hand on the door knob and turned it silently, and then pushed the door open. What she saw inside was enough to startle any mother. There was her son, seated on the edge of his bed, pants around his ankles, with a figure's head bobbing up and down between his legs.

The moment he realized she was standing there, his eyes widened to the size of their dish saucers, and he pushed the figure's head away. He then proceeded to grab a pillow and place it over his bare lap. Then, the figure turned back, and she recognized who it was, "James! I... Oh, I'm sorry-"

"Mother!" Armand snapped, bringing her attention away from her son's 'best friend', "_Out_!"

Without another word, Deidre slammed the door shut, and stood in front of it awkwardly for a moment or two, stunned. What on Earth had just happened?


	14. Lights are gonna find me

_**FLASHBACK 1996 **_

It took a lot of persuading with her Ministry overlords for Deidre to be allowed to go to London with her children. Apparently there was a lot of trouble happening in the wizarding world; nothing that Deidre would be informed of, but she knew there was tension at the Ministry. Amelia Bones was no longer there to act as her personal communication with the rest of the department – for some reason or another, no one was telling her why – so she was forced to sweet talk a pair of Aurors that came to the house to hear her request. They seemed... haggard, but that definitely came in the job description, so they couldn't really complain. Her request had been simple enough though; Regan wanted to see a show in West End, and they needed special permission to travel down to London. In accord with their agreement, the family was to stay in Newcastle and its surrounding areas, mostly because the Ministry feared they would flee to an old friend and off their radar. However, because the family had been quite well behaved for so many years – and the outbursts of magic from the children had diminished greatly – Deidre figured there should have been no problem with a trip to London. If they needed a chaperone, she was also willing to accept that, but apparently there was no one to spare at the Ministry at the moment. The Aurors granted her request begrudgingly, but only after a very stern set of lectures given to every one of the family members.

It was the summer of 1996. Armand had been in Leeds for university since he was 19, and loved the chance to gain a higher education. Dumbledore now sent him books directly in regards to his magical studies, and Deidre was a bit out of the loop in terms of how far along he was with them. Regan was 18, and in her final year of school with the Muggles. Although she had no real university or college aspirations, she was pushing hard to go audition for drama schools around the United Kingdom. That also needed special permission, and she usually had someone from the Ministry take her, rather than Deidre. So far, there had been a few letters asking for Regan to come back for a second audition, and it looked more promising at those schools than at her regular one. Her current grades were, well, much lower than her brother's had been, but somehow she was scraping by with just enough to pass.

Armand, on the other hand, was performing wonderfully. His grades were always within the top percentile of his classmates, he was friends with various professors in the medical sciences department, and he had been in a solid relationship for a year now. Deidre wasn't particularly pleased that he was in a relationship with an older Muggle man, but after countless fights about his sexual orientation, there didn't really seem like much could change him. Regan had accepted it rather quickly, and informed Deidre that a lot of the boys in theatre were also gay, and she had made friends with them faster than she did with most of the girls. Since Regan was accepting, Deidre soon realized she wasn't about to let something that might just be temporary ruin her relationship with her son. So while she was civil when Jared, an American writer, came to visit, she certainly had no expectations that their relationship would last once Armand became serious about his studies in medical school.

However, now was not a time to think about school or work. Deidre had been promoted to head pastry chef – somehow – at her bakery/dining café, which meant she worked more hours in the week, but that no longer bothered her. Armand didn't live at home anymore, and Regan was barely home during the week anyway, and she knew she'd start going a little mad again with nothing to do. The extra work wasn't any more difficult than her regular work; it just meant she had more decisions to make in regards to what was being served that day, and her wages increased. She had asked for the weekend off to take her children down to London. It was their first trip there since they were both too young to remember, and Deidre wasn't about to let that be spoiled by the fact that she had to work the next morning, or something.

They had been given a port key for travel purposes, which was a necklace that Deidre wore while they were in the city. The family had left early that morning, with Armand a bit tired after arriving around midnight the night before from Leeds. Most of the day was spent acting as Muggle tourists in the historic city; Regan even brought her bulky camera. There were several very unfortunate pictures of Deidre on there, but Regan promised to throw them out once she got them developed. All in all, the trio had a great time. Her children hadn't seen each other since the schools were out for their Easter holidays in the spring, which had been a month or so ago, and they always seemed to have a lot to catch up on. Despite how different the two were, somehow they had remained closer than most siblings over the years. Deidre suspected it was because of their magical background, and being the only wizards in the area, they had no choice by to cling to one another.

Regan had picked _Les Miserables_ as her show of choice on West End, and Deidre couldn't have been happier. Despite the fact it was performed by Muggles in a rather cramped theatre, it was really well done. Having gone to so many of Regan's plays over the years, Deidre had decided if there was one thing she would support in the Muggle world, it was the arts. Good performers could translate in both worlds, and one didn't need magic to sing as beautifully as Fantine had, or show the remorse of Jean Valjean. It was a spectacular performance, and all three of them rose for the encore round of applause. When they departed from the theatre, it was late in the afternoon, and dinner was on everyone's mind.

"We always get Thai when we go out," Armand moaned after Regan suggested it. "I can't stand the spice... Can't we just get normal food?"

"If you can make the food in your kitchen, it's stupid to pay for it when we go out," Regan remarked pointedly, hand in the pockets of her frayed jean shorts. "Mum? Opinion?"

Deidre walked between her children, dressed plainly in Muggle shorts, an olive green t-shrit, and a pair of Regan's old converse shoes. They were nearly the same size at this point, though Armand had surpassed her in height a few years ago. Both were like their father in various ways, but thankfully it no longer hurt her to acknowledge it. Armand had his eyes, but the rest of his features made him look distinctly like Deidre. Regan had most of her father's facial features, from the eyes right down to the chin, but she shared Deidre's slim, somewhat short stature. The only thing different from both her parents was the hair, which she continuously dyed black for "dramatic effect" on stage.

"You know I'm not allowed to have an opinion on these matters," Deidre chuckled as they walked along the River Thames, "but I really don't feel like Thai tonight."

Regan made a face at her as Armand smirked triumphantly, "See? Even Mother thinks it's rubbish."

"It's not rubbish," Deidre slipped in tactfully, "but we had it on Monday, and I don't think my stomach can take it again."

"You two just can't handle your spices," Regan scoffed, her eyes traveling over a pair of Muggle boys that walked past them. Deidre followed their gazes too, and then rolled her eyes when her daughter cocked an eyebrow at them flirtatiously.

"Regan, don't be a tease," she chuckled, nudging her daughter back to their current conversation. The girl shrugged and looked back over her shoulder, flicking her hair as she did so.

"Why? It's fun."

"I'd rather my baby sister not have that reputation, actually," Armand commented lightly, to which Regan stuck out her tongue at. It was wonderful having them home.

"How about this?" Deidre said finally after another moment or two of bickering, "On the other side of the river there's a nice Italian place I used to really like... How about we try that?"

"Italian sounds brilliant," Armand stated. She glanced at Regan, eyebrow raised, and the girl nodded after a few second of deliberation. She was a sucker for good pasta, so Deidre knew there wouldn't be much of an argument once it was suggested. With a destination in mind, she led her children toward the Millennium Bridge, as the restaurant was just on the other side. Perhaps it might be a slow day, and they'd be able to get a table outside overlooking the river. It wasn't magical, unfortunately, and it took every ounce of Deidre's being not to rush down the familiar streets to Diagon Alley and wait for someone to let her in. She had learned restraint over her years spent living as a Muggle, and in the eyes of the Ministry, she generally behaved. There was no way she was about to let one outing ruin her current standing with her longtime captors.

"What's that?" Regan said suddenly, pointing up toward the sky. Deidre pushed her arm down, and was about to lecture her once more about how it was rude to point, when Armand claimed he saw it too. Looking up, eyebrows furrowed in confusion, Deidre finally spotted what they had seen. The trio was standing a few feet away from the start of the bridge, and plummeting toward it from the sky were dark figures. Too big to be birds, and because none of the Muggles noticed what was so plainly obvious, Deidre could only assume they were from the wizarding world.

"What are they, Mother?" Armand whispered, "They're magical, right?"

Deidre was silent for a moment, too stunned to say anything. After Armand repeated the question, she nodded, "Yes... I don't... I don't know what-"

Before she could finish her statement, the figures collided with the bridge, and disaster followed. The three watched as the shapes whizzed around the structure, making the metal shriek and the cement crumble, until suddenly the bridge started to twist, turn, and come loose from its holdings. Muggles on it began screaming, terror and confusion setting in, as they ran for either side. A mother and daughter rushed to their end of the bridge, and while the mother made it, the girl slipped free from her mother's grasp and fell behind. Armand stepped forward, hand extended, and she heard him utter something beneath his breath. In a flash, the girl was flung forward violently, slamming into her mother, but safe as the ground where she once stood depleted into the Thames.

"Armand!" she cried over the commotion, "You do _not_ use wandless magic in public!"

"I saved her!" he argued angrily as he shook her off, "And I can get more of them!"

"Even wizards with wands cannot use their magic in front of Muggles," she stated firmly, stepping in front of him, "I won't have them take you because you wanted to keep a few Muggles from dying."

The gravity of her words seemed to startle him, and she pulled Regan close as Muggles scattered everywhere. Within a minute or so, the Millennium Bridge was sinking into the Thames, dozens of Muggles struggling to stay afloat as the current threatened to pull them under. Deidre's eyes returned to the sky, and she watched the figures sail off toward the Diagon Alley region of London; they had to be wizards.

"We should get out of here," Deidre said as they watched the chaos ensue around them. "The Ministry will implicate us in this... We were here when dark wizards killed Muggles. We have to get home."

"I should go help," Armand said, ignoring her completely. "I've got my first aid courses... there are people bleeding and hurt, and I don't see any ambulances-"

"We're not going to risk everything to help a bunch of Muggles," Deidre snapped, grasping his forearm tightly as he began to walk toward them. "There is something wrong in our world... and I don't want to be caught here when the Ministry comes to investigate. We need to leave."

"Don't you care about them? They're hurt!"

"They're Muggles who will have Muggles tend to them," she said softly, touched at her son's compassion, "but we're risking everything-"

"Were they Death Eaters, Mum?" Regan asked suddenly, her eyes still on the bridge.

Deidre frowned, "I don't... I don't know. The Death Eaters were those who supported your father when he was alive. They might be, but for all we know, there could be a new group similar to our old one starting up."

"I wish they had stayed," her daughter commented darkly. "Maybe we could have gone with them."

"No," Deidre said loudly, shaking her back a little, "I repeat; we cannot be involved. Let's go. _Now_."

She wasn't sure who those wizards were, or if they were old Death Eaters reliving the glory days a bit, but she didn't want to get hauled back into the Ministry just because they were in London when it happened. So, she grabbed both of them by the arms firmly and dragged them out of sight, and then used the port key to take them home. Armand was sullen upon arrival, while Regan was deep in thought. Deidre, however, was shaken to her core; something wasn't right in the wizarding world, and something told her it wasn't going to be right again for a very long time.


	15. When I know the time is right

_**FLASHBACK 1998 **_

Lord Voldemort seldom visited the Ministry. Since he had cheated a true death three years earlier, the man was basically everywhere in the United Kingdom. There was so much to do, after all. There were old servants to punish for their lack of faith, horcruxes to secure, teenage boys to kill... How often did he really have time to check up on the tidings of the Ministry? Rarely. He had to put his faith in the men who had earned it through their loyalty over the years, and hope that they would not fail him. So many had done so before, and he was less forgiving now than he was in his youth. Most knew his patience was thin, and his mercy only extended so far; those who wanted to test his limits were happily obliged, but he felt as though it was an annoyance to do so.

Where to begin with his story? So much had happened since he returned that he preferred not to dwell on it. Years of wandering around, neither dead nor fully alive, and simply waiting. Waiting for someone to realize that their Lord was not as weak as he was made out to be. Waiting for someone to find him. Waiting for someone to prove their worth one last time. The night his soul was ripped from his body was pain beyond any pain he had ever felt before, and although now he liked to believe it made him stronger, back then it shattered his very existence. A little boy, as the Prophecy said, had destroyed him. Harry Potter, only a year old, was protected by Ancient Magic, and therefore continued to live in the real world, while Voldemort was forced to watch from a distance. The wizarding world carried on, as though he had never been there, and Mudbloods and Muggle-lovers took over the seats of power as Voldemort began to wither away to nothing. He had tried, on various occasions, to work his way back into the real world, but was thwarted each time by that meddlesome _boy_ and his friends.

Well, the tables have turned now, Mr. Harry Potter. He took time to build up his power again. This new body was a bit to get used to; although he was older mentally, his physical shape took on the vitality he had when he died, and made the outer shell twenty years younger than the inner self. Once he had mastered his powers once more, he saw to other matters. Threats and intimidation was necessary with the government at the time, and with enough pressure, Fudge crumbled, and Voldemort had the opportunity to slip a puppet Minister into place. He never had any desire to become Minister for Magic, mostly because he couldn't deal with the people day in and day out. Once the Minister was in place, he began weeding out the weak within the ranks of the Ministry and replaced them with his own men. It was easy enough, once you had the right amount of people in there who were capable at the task he had assigned them.

Infiltration and take-over. That was the essential plan for conquering Britain once more. The struggle went on for nearly two solid years, but now he could safely say that he would meet no further resistance from any memory of the old Ministry, or Dumbledore's fallen Order of the Phoenix. Mudbloods were still being hunted and banned from using magic in public. Most of the Order, the ones that had been captured (which, infuriatingly enough, wasn't all that many) were in Azkaban if they were not pure of blood, while the rest faced a sentence of community service. He wasn't about to punish good, pure wizards with prison, but he couldn't let them get off without a punishment either. They were monitored closely, those purebloods that had defected from their backgrounds, and their movements between cities was restricted. In fact, an entire department in the new Ministry, his Ministry, was dedicated to making sure these bloodtraitors were now completely loyal to the right person. They would only be given one more chance, and afterward they would be at the mercy of the courts.

The role Voldemort now took was neither Minister nor Headmaster; he lacked the desire to be both. He had taken up residence in Hogwarts, his favourite place on Earth by far, but he had another man running the school, along with various Death Eaters to fill in for staff positions of those who had fled. The school was to remain open, but halfbloods beware, and Mudbloods no longer had a place in the castle. Much of Dumbledore's people, the dead Dumbledore, had fled the country, and perhaps the entire United Kingdom. Potter was among those that had escaped into obscurity, and as angry as that made him, the fact that no one had any idea where he was meant he was lying low for the time being. Many of his friends had died at the Battle of Hogwarts in the late spring of 1998, only a few months ago to this date, and he was sure the boy merely needed time to recuperate. They would meet again, but in his absence, Voldemort had much to accomplish elsewhere. School curriculum to rewrite, laws to enact, a chain of future Ministers to construct, pure immortality to obtain... There was literally so much to do, and he wondered where he found the time to do it.

He carried many titles, but two that he had not forgotten seemed to be the two that he barely considered during his struggle for power; husband and father. The man had only asked Lucius Malfoy once where his Deidre and the children were, and the questionably loyal servant informed him that they were safe, away from the wizarding world, but under the constant watch of the Ministry. When he knew that they were not in immediate harm, he put them out of his mind. At the time, there was simply too much to think about, and he knew that personal attachments would only slow him down. They had been without him for almost fourteen years at that point; another few wouldn't hurt them. Did he miss his wife? Of course he did; he missed her companionship, her interesting perspective on worldly matters, and the way she took care of any need he had without question. She was, without a doubt, his most faithful servant, through and through. While she would have supported him on his rather violent seizure of power, he had a feeling she would have been too much of a distraction. As far as the children went, he could only hope that she raised them well enough to be the children of the Dark Lord. In time he knew he would see them, but there were nights, as he tried to fall asleep, that he couldn't help but wonder what they had turned into over the years.

His family flitted in and out of his mind over the years, but they were never the big picture. There were certainly more important things to focus on, and he did so without complaint. However, in late November of 1998, he became curious where Deidre and the children had been moved to. Apparently, Lucius had visited them once, but left rather drunk, and was unable to recall exactly where the location was; somewhere in northern England, he'd say. It seemed his mind also wanted to block out his meeting with Deidre, since no matter how much Voldemort probed into the great crevice that was Lucius Malfoy's mind, nothing even remotely relatable to Deidre or her location could be found. As frustrating as it was, he could hardly blame the man; tequila was a Hell of a drink, though he could hardly fathom why Deidre would be drinking it.

When he finally had some time to spare, Voldemort made his way down to the archives within the vaults of the Ministry. There was a special section dedicated just to the doings of the former Ministry, and Voldemort often found himself pouring over files, scoffing at the way the old government handled the issues that arose over time. Usually they were complete idiots, but there was no harm in taking their victories in with a grain of salt; he had to be humbled by their accomplishments sometimes, because he could look at what they did, perfect it, and use it to his advantage. Deidre's file wasn't particularly difficult to find. It wasn't hidden away, or labeled something clever to throw him off. The Ministry had uprooted his family and moved them to Newcastle within a few months of his death, and confiscated Deidre's wand in the process. From what he could read from the various reports, the children were not permitted to use magic, and any signs of it were carefully documented and handled by the woman in charge of the case, Amelia Bones.

He smirked at the memory. Amelia Bones had met a rather horrific death at his hand, a death that apparently baffled magical and Muggle folk alike. Without going into too many gruesome details, it was safe to say that the woman probably still ached in death. He hadn't known at the time that she was responsible for his wife's current lifetime chastisement, and if he had, perhaps there would have been nothing left of her once he was through. While he could not take out his anger for Deidre out on Amelia anymore, there were plenty of other people's names in the file that were still alive, and they would taste his wrath yet.

The man continued to read the contents of the file in relative silence. It had a few pictures of his children from their preteen days, along with some snapshots taken of Deidre while she was out and about. She looked thin, but otherwise the same as he remembered her. Along with the photos, there were reports from the various schools the children had attended, a copy of an employee evaluation from Deidre's current employer, and all the countless reports made on his family while they were in St. Mungo's and living at the Ministry. Most of the people that handled them seemed more interested in how much they were like Voldemort, which was always amusing. While everyone feared him, they all wanted to be in his inner circle to some degree; they wanted to know the true Lord Voldemort. As the children grew, the updates on their lives became less detailed, and he assumed it was because they were playing into the Ministry's plans perfectly; they were slowly turning into Muggles. There was a reference to Dumbledore in there, stating that he was sending them magical books to ensure their talents were not completely wasted, but he could have cared less. If the children were not able to practice magic, how would they ever harness their gifts?

It wasn't as shocking as he had expected it to be. Voldemort assumed after his "death" that the Ministry would eventually capture his family, and they would take out everything that they could not on him on them. The idea never particularly bothered him, as he knew someone would step in and cry, "But think of the children!" They wouldn't lock them in prison, or kill them; Deidre was probably less safe than the children were, but he also assumed she would somehow work her way out of it. While she may not have been the most intelligent witch out there, she was resourceful, and he could have always counted on her for that. Making the family live as Muggles was an ironic punishment, yes, but it was much more merciful than Voldemort had expected. As humiliated as Deidre must have been, at least the family was not divided, and they could continue to exist relatively free from the Ministry.

That was about to change. Not now, however. Voldemort still had a number of things to do in order to make the wizarding world his own, and he still didn't need the distraction of a long-lost family to bog down his mind. Instead, he tucked the file under his arm and departed from the Ministry as soundlessly as he arrived. When he was back home at Hogwarts, the file on his wife and children was set on his bookshelf, and the pictures in it were tucked into frames on his desk. Those would remind him that there was something left to finish, but not now. In the future, yes, the near future, but for now he could not lose focus because of some excessive emotional distraction.

* * *

**AUTHOR'S NOTE:**

This will be the last of the 'flashbacks' of this story. From here onward, we will be dealing with "real time" in the story. I really appreciate the people that have taken to this story, especially those that review as frequently as they do! I love reading all the feedback, and it tends to make me want to keep updating as fast as I can. Much love to all, and I hope I can continue to entertain!


	16. Who is the king, who is the knife

**AUTHOR'S NOTE:**

Just wanted to remind everyone that the flashbacks are over, and we'll be moving on with the story. The point of views will now switch between characters a bit more frequently, and I'll no longer be using lyrics from ABBA's songs for chapter titles. Instead, they will be taken from songs by Florence & the Machine. Enjoy!

_**PRESENT DAY – JULY 1999 **_

It was odd that the café wasn't busier. On rainy days, pedestrians usually flocked to the perfectly situated diner, which meant Deidre had a ridiculously busy shift of fetching coffees, teas, cakes and other delicious treats to keep everyone happy. Today, a rainy day in early July, the café was relatively empty. An elderly couple each read the paper near the fireplace, while a few teens were seated at the chairs that faced the window, giggling noisily every so often. Her day shift would be coming to a close soon; she seldom worked in the evenings, because she hated closing the shop. However, it was always lonely to come home to an empty house at night, and she would usually grab a bite to eat elsewhere. Thankfully, both children were on their summer break back in Newcastle, so that meant for a little while longer, she wouldn't necessarily have to go back to a completely empty house.

If she thought she had been lonely before, she must have been out of her mind. Armand had been in medical school since he was nineteen. At age twenty-four, he was living with his longtime partner, Jared, in a flat in Leeds. However, during the summer, he picked up an internship at a pediatrician's clinic in downtown Newcastle, and lived at home to keep Deidre company. He had been offered internships at various hospitals round the country, as his grades were top of the class, but Deidre assumed he chose Newcastle because he understood how lonely she was when they were all gone, and how stubborn she remained when it came to making friends with Muggles.

Regan, on the other hand, had completely forgone the university/college route. She attended drama school for about a year, but when she realized she wasn't interested in the continuation of Muggle schooling, she dropped out. Since then, she had been sharing a flat with a few of her "friends" in London. Like Deidre, she worked in the service industry, and currently worked as a sales associate at some hip clothing store. The only thing Deidre liked about it was the fact that Regan got her discounts whenever she was down for a visit. Otherwise, she was a little sad that her daughter was forced into the working masses of the Muggle world. Regan shared her sentiment, but she was also in a lot of community theatre productions, and had even made it onto a West End show as a chorus member for a season. Unfortunately, she lacked much of the technical training to keep going, but with her dance classes in full swing, work, and her avid social life in the London party scene, Regan kept busy. One summer, she didn't bother to come home, and Armand was furious with her. Now that she was twenty-one, the girl had the option to ignore her brother, but she seldom did. So this summer, Regan transferred from her shop in London to the sister branch in Newcastle, and worked from home to keep Deidre company once again.

With the children gone, she worked full time at the café. After so many years of loyal service, she had been asked by her boss if she was interested in taking on a management position, which would eventually lead to a partnership with the current owners. Although the place and the people had grown on her, she never wanted to make it her life's work to own a café, especially not a Muggle one. So she held a high rank in the shop, was given special privileges, and could work whenever she wanted, but usually worked most days for as long as possible. The money was good, but over the last few years, the Ministry had increased their allowance. All of Armand's schooling had been paid for by the Ministry, and a hefty sum was now also sent to Regan monthly, which allowed her to pay rent and still have enough to feed her love of shopping. Deidre didn't really need an allowance increase, as she made good money at work, so she funneled the Ministry allowance into keeping the house up to date. All the modern Muggle appliances found their way into her home; they were like a replacement for magic, since they were designed to make life easier.

It had been years since she had even seen a wand, or been with a man, or met a magical being of any kind. Deidre had given up on feeling sorry for herself, but she was seldom overly happy. The only time she looked remotely pleased with anything was when the children came to visit. They were grown up now, had their own lives to lead, and Deidre sometimes felt dried up and used. Everyone took everything from her, and now she wasn't particularly sure what else she had left to give. The temptation to drink again came every so often, but so far she had remained relatively sober, minus a few drinks here and there. It was difficult not to succumb to old vices, but she was trying her hardest to remain strong. She had encountered less resistance from the Ministry, and officials had stopped dropping by almost three years ago. With them gone, she felt completely disconnected from the wizarding world, and with her refusal to integrate into the Muggle one, she found herself stuck in some odd limbo that she'd never break free from. So what was happening in her old world? She wasn't sure. Something must have gone wrong with the current Ministry for them to cease contact with her, aside from money deposits. Sure, it was a morbid view, but after the terrible incident in London with the Millennium Bridge, she could only assume that there was chaos amongst her old friends.

She only thought about it every so often, as life went on in her world just as it did in theirs. Groceries needed to be purchased, work attended, the house cleaned, leftover snakes fed, letters to write to the children... Even though sometimes she felt completely alone and bored, if she tried hard enough, there was always something to do. A bit like her job, really. There were a few teens that worked at the café part time, and if they tried hard enough, there would always be something to do. Bread to cut, pastries to bake, ovens to clean (among other things), and various other chores that needed to be done over the course of the day... Deidre usually ended up doing a lot of the tasks because she hated being idle. Sitting around and doing nothing was just a waste of her time. Sometimes, if she was in a good enough mood, she would have a chat with a few of the customers that she knew. Over time, many of the same customers came back for more of the deliciously brewed coffee and cookies that the café had to offer, and Deidre was on a first-name basis with most of the repeat offenders. Deep down she hated herself for being close to them, but sometimes she needed the companionship more than anything.

This late afternoon, as the rain battered down on the windows of the café, she realized she wasn't going to get much in the form of companionship from the current customers. Claudine, another single mother, was currently back in the kitchen, unloading a recent delivery of fresh fruits, while Deidre was busying herself up front. The countertops needed to be wiped down, tables cleared off from past customers, and coffee machines to gut. Clad in her black uniform, which consisted of a v-necked t-shirt and a black skirt, she wrapped a white apron around her waist and grabbed a rag. First the counters, and then she'd see where else her cleaning spree would take her.

As she was pushing some crumbs into the already growing pile, she heard the tiny bell sound to signal that someone had entered the café. She continued her cleaning in silence; sometimes people just popped in to get out of the rain, meet a friend, or use their restroom. Technically they weren't allowed to let people do that unless they bought something, but Deidre had done it enough times in her life that she usually didn't mind. The chair scrapped across the floor on the other side of the counter, and she heard a man ask for a coffee, black.

"Be right with you, sir," she said as she tossed the rag aside and worked on getting his order. After she fixed him his coffee, she set the cup on a small plate, and turned around to hand it to him. However, the moment she laid eyes on the customer, she dropped the cup in shock and spilled hot coffee all over the floor. The man before her looked exactly like her former husband when he was in his early fifties.

Over the years, she had seen people that looked like Voldemort, and it was always jarring, but this fellow took the cake. The same eyes, nose, lips, slightly hunched posture with elbows on the table... everything looked the same.

For a moment, she thought she was seeing things. The stranger before her with the striking resemblance to Voldemort simply couldn't be him; he was dead. Long gone, and would never show his face in such a Muggle infested area. Perhaps he was only a figment of her imagination, something telling her that she ought to never forget his memory. She cleared her throat, still staring at him, "I'm sorry about that."

"That's fine," he replied smoothly. Her face paled when she heard the similarity between this man's voice and Voldemort's, and she continued to stare at him for a moment longer. He simply gazed back at her placidly, not making any move to inquire about his spilled coffee, or about why she was staring at him like some loon. The only thing that brought her back to reality was the sound of the kitchen door swinging open, and Claudine's voice.

"Everything all right?"

"Fine," Deidre forced, looking at the woman momentarily, "tripped over my own feet... Silly of me."

The brunette glanced between Deidre and the man seated at the counter, and while she appeared unconvinced, she returned to the kitchen without another word. Deidre ran a hand through her hair, which was hanging loose just below her shoulders, and then looked back at the man. Her hands shook a touch.

"I'm sorry," she started. "You just... You look like someone I know that's passed away. Your coffee will of course be on the house."

He stared at her for a moment, and then folded his hands together on the counter, "It pains me, Deidre, to think that you would ever grovel to a Muggle like that."

She took a step closer to the counter, bypassing the coffee. With her voice lowered, she hissed, "Am I hallucinating?"

He cocked an eyebrow, and she paused, lips pursed in thought, and then shook her head, "I haven't had anything to drink today... nor have I ingested something that would make me see you. So, you have to me a figment of my imagination."

That had to be it. Deidre nodded her head firmly, and then looked around the café. No one else seemed to be paying them any attention, so no one would have noticed her talking to thin air like a crazy person. Good enough. She turned back to grab a mop, as the coffee needed cleaning or it would start to smell, but she felt a hand grasp hold of her forearm firmly. The woman flinched at the touch and looked back. Sure enough, the same man was holding onto her. Either this was a very vivid hallucination, or her deceased husband was holding onto her at a coffee shop in downtown Newcastle.

"I am very real, Deidre," he said slowly and firmly, holding eye contact with her as she stared back in horror, "and I'm exactly who you think I am."

"You can't be."

"Why?"

"Because the person I'm thinking of died."

"I did."

Deidre pulled her arm away, "Figuratively, or literally?"

"Literally, but I've come back."

"How?"

"Why do you doubt my magical abilities, Deidre?" he chuckled, reaching out again to touch her, but she stepped back, eyebrows furrowed. "Have you lost faith in me?"

"I... " she stammered, arms limp at her sides, "I... I accepted that you died. It took me over a decade to do it, but I did. What you're saying now isn't... It isn't logical!"

"Have you been in this world so long that you've forgotten what true magic really is?" he whispered as his eyes narrowed a touch.

"No," the redhead snapped irritably. "Of course not! But... But you cannot expect me to accept this without questioning it. You could be anyone!"

"I suppose 'anyone' kept a lock of my hair to use for Polyjuice Potion for future use. 'Anyone' was always close enough to snatch some, correct? _Think_, Deidre."

"Don't tell me to _think_," she ground out. "This isn't normal... in any circumstance! Muggle or magical!"

This couldn't possibly be happening. He looked like Voldemort. He talked like Voldemort, right down to the condescending way he spoke to her when he thought she was being a simpleton. Everything about him _was_ Voldemort. Perhaps she had lived in the Muggle world for too long, and had simply forgotten what it was like to accept the extraordinary as ordinary. He used to be such a powerful wizard; although fighting off death was a rarity in the magical world, perhaps he had somehow accomplished it.

"What was Armand's favourite toy for the first few months?" she asked suddenly, knowing that no one else would have seen their son when he was so young, and if they had, he wouldn't have been playing with anything.

"Deidre-"

"_What_ was it?"

He paused for a moment, and then sighed, "A spoon."

"That's... That's right."

"Do I pass your test?" he chuckled.

She remained quiet, too deep in thought to pay his sarcastic comment any attention. Instead, she knelt down and began picking up the broken pieces of mug and plate. Once they were thrown away, she stood in front of him again, fingers fiddling with her apron, "Where have you been?"

"I can explain all that," he stated, "but not here. Come with me."

"Where?"

"Your home... Perhaps you'd be most comfortable there."

"I... suppose."

She nibbled on her lip lightly, and then glanced back at the closed kitchen door. Could she just walk out and leave all this for a chance that it might be a hallucination? Or perhaps it was a trick by the Ministry to see if she would fall back to her "old ways" when the opportunity presented itself. However, if this was the real thing, she wasn't about to let it slip away so she could continue co-existing with all this Muggle filth. It was bound to make her sick eventually... So, ignoring the spilled coffee on the floor, she walked back through the service exit into the main lobby of the café, and took his hand when he extended it to her. Instead of leaving right away, he pulled her close and then reached around her back. Deidre frowned, and jumped at the feel of his fingers on her.

"What are you doing?"

She trailed off when her apron fell loose into his hand, and he tossed it nonchalantly back onto the counter, "I don't think you'll need that anymore."

With a nod, she let him lead her out of the café. No one looked up, or even appeared bothered that their server was leaving. Perhaps they thought it was normal, but she knew Claudine would be quite upset that Deidre had left before her shift ended without telling anyone or cleaning the mess behind the counter. However, once they were outside, in the fresh air, and surrounded by more people that didn't care about their existence, she felt isolated with him. His hand was warm against hers, and the grip between them felt so familiar it made her stomach knot.

"We'll apparate from the alley," he stated as he stepped around an older couple. Deidre frowned, something he noticed when he looked back at her, and he raised an eyebrow, "You do remember how to apparate, correct?"

"I haven't done it in nearly twenty years," she snapped, shooting him a look, "but I'll try my best."

"Come now, there's no need to get testy," he chuckled as he pulled her into the dingy alley between two buildings, far from the prying eyes of Muggles, "I was curious."

"You're worried I've lost all my magic."

"Hardly even crossed my mind."

"You can't lie to me," she mused as she turned to face him, her hands now gripping the front of his black coat. "I still know you better than anyone, no matter how long you've been away."

She stared up into familiar bloodshot eyes, eyes that were once handsome and dark, and for a moment he looked irritated. Deidre knew the look well, and she pondered whether or not she had said something that might upset him, but nothing came to mind. The expression was only there for a second, and then it was gone, replaced with one that was unreadable and foreign to her.

"Hold tight to me," he urged, bringing her hands to rest against his chest, "and think very hard about your home. I know the address, but you'll need to help a little."

"You... You know the address?" Deidre said suddenly, "How-"

"I will explain everything, I promise," he sighed, "but not here. I've breathed in enough Muggle air."

"Fine."

"Hold tight, Deidre."

"I am."

He dragged her even closer, making her squeal softly, and it took her a second to remember to concentrate on her home in the suburbs. Before she knew it, she felt a distinctly familiar tug, and a squishing sensation as the pair began to travel from the city centre to her home, arriving neatly in the entrance hall. Her breathing was heavy when she stepped away from him, and she placed a hand on her head, trying to make her body relax. It hadn't endured the trauma of this sort of travel for so long that she was quite sure it had forgotten what apparation felt like. He held her forearm to steady her momentarily, but she stepped away, hating the way the annoyance in his eyes seeped out. If this was truly her husband, then all the irritation she was picking up on was quite real; he was going to be angry to know that she had forgotten much of her Hogwarts training, despite having taught her children bits and pieces. She barely remembered the more complex spells out there, and only the simplest of the simple would be performed with accuracy.

"Are you all right?"

"It's been a long time," Deidre explained shakily, leaning against a wall for support. "I need to get used to everything again."

He shrugged off his jacket and hung it lazily on the coat rack by the door. Deidre watched as he studied her entrance hallway, and then began his own private tour of her downstairs. It had taken her much longer to recover from her magical transport than she thought it would, but when she was eventually able to walk without feeling dizzy, she found him in the sitting room. He had an old Christmas photo in his hand. It was one that she had taken with the children when they were in their early teens, the still faces grinning up at him shamelessly through the Muggle lens.

"What are those on Armand's teeth?" he inquired softly, his eyes squinting as he leaned in closer to examine the photo. With a frown, Deidre stepped up beside him and took the picture frame from his hand, and then smirked.

"Ah," she chuckled. "This was during the braces phase. Poor thing had them for two years as a teenager. They're what Muggles use to straighten teeth."

"And why did he need them?"

"Because he ended up with my father's teeth," she sighed, setting the picture back on the mantel over the fireplace. "Quite unfortunate, really. The boys in his year were cruel to him for them."

He gave something of a grunt, and then turned away, eyes still studying the room, "So you've lived here the whole time?"

"Yes. Armand and Regan's rooms are upstairs... mostly unchanged since they've moved out. Would you like to see?"

Rather than replying, he grasped her wrist firmly, and then began to march toward the staircase. The woman could hardly resist rolling her eyes, somewhat irritated with his mood swings. However, as she reached the second floor, he turned around and kissed her out of the blue. If he hadn't had a grip on her, she might have tumbled back down the staircase at the force of it. A puff of shocked air slipped out, and Deidre brought a hand up to his face, using it to keep him in place as she pulled away. She hadn't been expecting it, and his lips felt too hard and a little awkward against hers.

"After this long, I think I'd prefer to see another bedroom first," he mused, his grip tightening on her wrist. "Wouldn't you agree?"

She grinned responsively, and stepped around him in the direction of her bedroom. Once inside, he kicked the door shut behind them, and this time she was ready for him. Hands raked through his thick, dark hair as their lips found each other, bodies meshing like no time had been lost at all. He was quick to rid her of her work uniform, tossing it across the room as if she never ought to wear it again. Her body tingled appreciatively as his hands groped at her, touching everything possible as she fumbled over the buttons of his shirt. It had been so long since anyone had touched her like this, and aside from her ridiculously drunken kiss, she had practically been a saint since the day Voldemort died. When she finally managed to get rid of his shirt, his lips at her neck hungrily, she took only a moment or so to feel his torso. Everything felt the same, right down to the last detail. The redhead gasped softly when teeth nipped somewhat roughly at her flesh, and he managed to undo the clasp on her bra without too many issues. With a firm hold now on her hips, he pushed her back toward the bed. She tried to undo his belt, but apparently wasn't fast enough, as he ended up swatting her away in favour of doing it himself.

Flesh on flesh. Flesh on flesh that hadn't been touched in years. He parted her legs and stepped between them, hands running over her stomach and breasts as she lay out on the bed before him. Neither had said a word, and the only sound in the room was Deidre's slight pants, and his purposeful breathing. Suddenly, he leaned down to kiss her, and Deidre released a painful cry against his lips as he pushed rather forcefully into her. After being abstinent for so long, it was going to take her longer than a few rather exciting and heated minutes of foreplay to have her fully ready for him. But the thought seemed lost on Voldemort, and he continued to kiss her rather slowly as he thrust into her, his breathing starting to speed up. She had been used to rough fucking... once. At this point in time, it was more painful than pleasurable, but he hardly seemed like he was about to let up anytime soon. Hands grasped at her legs and wrapped them around his hips as he continued. The change in angle made it a touch better, but Deidre still managed to let out a muffled squeal whenever he thrust too deeply.

This certainly wasn't how she had pictured reunited sex with her once deceased husband. Although she would never come to think of him as a tender man, Deidre had thought that perhaps their distance would make him a touch more romantic for the first time in a long time. However, for now, it seemed like the only thoughts on his mind were his own satisfaction, and with her arms wrapped gingerly around his neck, he fucked her ruthlessly until he was completely placated. When he was finished, he pulled out quickly, another brief moment of pain following, and kissed a soft trail down her neck. Their breathing was equally ragged, but for two completely separate reasons. Deidre eased out from under him and slid away from the edge of the bed, hand on her stomach as she felt her lower regions twinge painfully at the movement.

A spell uttered under his breath had them both cleaned in a matter of seconds, and he pushed the covers back on her double bed, sliding beneath them as though it was where he belonged.

"Come here," he murmured as he pushed the covers forward, inviting her to lie next to him. She moved slowly, careful not to upset her body anymore then he already had. Once in position, she placed a hand on his chest, feeling his heart rate coming back down from its previously racing pace. They lay there in silence for a long time, and while Deidre had always imagined it being relaxed, something was wrong. Something felt strained; his charm had faded from earlier.

"My Polyjuice Potion will begin to wear off soon," Voldemort muttered after some time, "but you mustn't be frightened."

"Why would I be?" she inquired, her voice cracking a touch.

"I suppose you'll see."

Frowning, Deidre sat up a little, the slight chill in the room making her skin prickle, "I want you to start telling me things. You owe me that much."

"Do I?"

"Yes," she snapped. "How long have you been back? What's been happening? Why haven't you come sooner? _How_ could you let them do this to me-"

"Shush, Deidre," he sighed noisily, rubbing his eyes with his hands. "It's a lot of information to give all at once... Are you sure you want to hear all of it?"

"You know I do!"

The man shuffled into the depths of her pillows a touch more, perfectly content to make her wait a few anxious, and somewhat annoying, moments before he spoke, "I never fully died, you see. During a period of about five or so years, while we were married in fact, I perfected the use of Horcruxes. They involve splitting your soul into various objects through cruel acts... necessary acts, and through them I could live forever."

Deidre shifted to her side, resting her head on her arm as he spoke. She gave him a nod, her expression somewhat neutral.

"Well, although the charm on that _boy_ sent my spell back to me and should have killed me, it didn't," he carried on, rolling his eyes at the mention of Harry Potter. "Love protected him, you see, and he ended up killing my physical body... the one you see before you now."

"Ah."

"My essence wandered from place to place, until Pettigrew finally found me some years later in Albania. I used other wizards with more knowledge in this area than I, but from them I learned a way to properly restore my body. Very complex magic, Deidre... dark and complex. Excruciatingly painful, but when I was finally back, I was how I should be."

"And when was this?"

"Four years ago," he answered plainly, no hint of remorse in his tone. Deidre's eyes narrowed; she should have been the _first_ person he went after when he returned. She opened her mouth to berate him, which he wholly deserved, but he placed a finger on her lips, and as if chastising a child said, "Now, now, Deidre. If you shout at me, you can't hear the rest of my story."

Defeated, she settled back down on the bed, still silently fuming. He was enjoying her anger; she could see it in his eyes. The man had barely changed. Still, she was interested to know how he managed to fight his way back into the wizarding world, and, well... she simply desired to have any knowledge about what had happened with her old home. After her incident with Lucius, all ties had been permanently severed to the magical place she once resided in, and at this point in her life she had accepted that she would never see it again. He spoke of battles, Ministry take-overs, coming to power, killing Dumbledore, losing Harry Potter in the fray, ruling the magical world as he had always wanted...

He made everything seem so grand; all his exploits were so dangerous and adventurous that Deidre felt pathetic sitting around at home, doing chores, or working at the café. Nothing in her life had been interesting since she joined the Muggle world, aside from her tidings with Regan and Armand, but nothing about Deidre would grab anyone's attention. Her husband (could she still call him that?) seemed to have nothing but stories to tell, and for almost an hour he entertained her with tidbits of information that made her head want to explode.

Suddenly, it happened. Her hand, which was now resting on top of his, felt lumps begin to swarm beneath his skin. Pulling it away sharply, she stared down at it, shocked, "What-"

"The potion is losing its effect," he repeated. "You'll see my true form in a moment."

Voldemort sat up, and even though her eyes were somewhat adjusted to the constantly darkening room, it was still a bit difficult to see the full transformation. From the shadowy figure of his outline, she watched as his hair disappeared, as if being pulled back into his head, and his face started to lose its more pointed features. His nose whittled down to nothing, and his exceedingly pale skin shone brightly in the darkness. When it seemed like his body had settled, Deidre rolled over and managed to click on her bedside lamp to illuminate the situation.

It wasn't right, the way he looked. More snake-like than ever, his eyes were completely reddened, slits for nostrils, and skin so pale that he seemed to be without lips. Otherwise his overall shape looked essentially the same; long limbs, quite long fingers, lean.

"My, my, I've left you speechless?" he inquired as he leaned back in the pillows, foreign eyes studying her from across the bed. "What do you think, _wife_? Am I still up to your standards?"

There was something cruel behind his words. Something heartless that made Deidre remember how easily he had finally broken her so many years ago. However, with his return now finally exposed to her, and a chance to go back to the life she once loved, she wasn't about to express her current distress. Instead, she merely leaned forward and kissed him. It felt completely different this time, but Deidre was a good enough actress, she hoped, to keep up the façade of adoring wife just a little while longer. Something wasn't right though. It was something she couldn't quite place her finger on; was he upset with her? Displeased in some way that she couldn't have foreseen? She certainly hadn't woken up this morning thinking that her long-deceased husband would walk back into her life.

But instead of contemplating her worries aloud, she just kissed him.


	17. Afraid all the neighbours would hear

_**PRESENT DAY – JULY 1999**_

It sucked being this tired. Although Armand had worked summer internships before, this one was certainly more demanding. He quite liked his employer, and was even allowed to take on several of his own patients – those with problems simplistic enough for him to handle legally –the hours were exhausting. Early mornings, late nights, a lot of paperwork, and trying to handle Jared's incessant phone calls on his breaks was starting to drive him a little crazy. The man missed him; Hell, Armand missed him. He remained in Leeds while the wizard stayed with his mother for the summer, mostly because Armand knew that there was no way his mother would be all right with a Muggle staying with them, let alone his gay partner. So, aside from the few trips back home on the weekend, Armand was basically away from Jared for the entire summer, and the man was starting to get clingy. He had never been clingy before; Jared was older, an established writer, and ridiculously attractive. If anything, Armand was the one that had to worry about him straying... but somehow, some stupid idea had wormed its way into his head, and the blond was constantly trying to get a hold of him whenever he was supposedly free.

To make matters worse, Jared had popped up two days ago to drop off their two year old white Labrador to stay with Armand while he was away. He claimed it was meant to be something to remind him of home, but he had a feeling Jared was getting sick of waking up at 6 (Armand's usually rising hour) to let Charles out for a wee. Charles was their baby, for now. His mother had no idea that the animal had been dumped on him, and he wasn't particularly sure how she would react. His employer, Dr. Klein, happily took Charles home for the night when he first arrived; apparently his twin girls wanted to keep him. But Armand knew he would have to take him back and present him to his mother at some point. She was all right with snakes, seeing as he and Regan kept them in containers most of the time, but he wasn't too sure where she would stand on a rambunctious two year old dog who had a tendency to knock things over with his tail. We'll see. Klein was kind enough to let Armand bring the dog in to the office, seeing as most of the patients would be thrilled to have a dog lounging around, so that took care of most of the time during the day. When he was at home, and not sleeping off his exhausting schedule, Armand was more than able to look after him.

There was a slight concern that Regan might put him outside and then forget about him, but Armand would have to make sure he was on top of that. Bloody girl was a bit of a loopy mess sometimes, but he loved her all the same. It was nice to be living in the same place as her again. Leeds wasn't too far from London to get to, but with his busy schedule with school and whatnot, he rarely went down to visit. So, whenever she could book time off, Regan came up to stay with him and Jared for a few days. Jared adored her and her sarcastic tongue, and she was quite pleased with his American sense of vulgarity that surfaced every so often, which was good. She understood why Armand could love a Muggle. Most of his life he spent by himself; when the opportunity for legitimate companionship presented itself, he wasn't about to turn it away because they weren't of the same kind. He had committed the cardinal sin with Jared too; he had told.

The man who took his heart didn't quite believe him at first, but after Regan confirmed the notion that they were wizards in all seriousness, some understanding set in. He was sworn to secrecy, of course, and their mother had no idea that he knew what their family was, but Armand couldn't have cared less. He wanted Jared to be a part of everything in his life, and to comprehend every quirk that made up Armand's entire being. Being able to perform magic was a big part of his life. He had studied diligently when Albus Dumbledore sent him textbooks, and had learned wandless magic on his own without any tips from anyone; that had to mean something, right? It had to mean magic was there for good. Not that he used it much; being surrounded by Muggles day in and day out meant he was used to their customs. Just because he could use magic didn't mean he felt it necessary to do so.

That was why he was driving home in the shittiest, cheapest rental car he had found at the start of the summer. Charles was in the back, pacing around the seat with a whine every so often. He didn't need to pee or anything, the dog just hated car rides. Oh sure, he was so excited when he got told he was going on one, but the minute the doors slammed shut behind him, panic would set in.

"Charles," Armand scolded lightly when the dog let out a particularly long whine. "We're almost home. Five minutes, and then we'll be on our best behaviour for my mother... Right?"

A short series of high-pitched squeaks was the response he got, and he rolled his eyes as he turned the car gently onto his old street. The streetlamps illuminated the way back to his old house; not that he needed them or anything, he could have found the place in his sleep. Nothing had changed since he was six... this would always be the family home. The rain was beginning to pick up again, and Armand frowned at it through his windshield, then turned the wipers on. Then the turning signal. A few bumps, and they were up the driveway behind his mother's small car. Home at last. It was only eleven-thirty, but it felt like it was some time in the wee hours of the morning. He grabbed his jacket in the seat beside him, and then slipped into it to keep his dark blue scrubs from getting too wet.

Charles was quite pleased to get out of the car, and bound onto the grass lawn for a quick roll before he could stop him. Oh, his mother would kill him. However, he wasn't particularly good at drying spells, so the natural way would have to do for now.

"Come, Charles," Armand ordered firmly as he started to walk toward the door, and despite all the tempting new smells the place had to offer him, the dog was at his side in a moment. Sliding his key into the lock, he turned it sharply and pushed the door open. Although the dog was good at coming when called, he seemed a little less interested in listening to Armand as soon as the door opened. The man could smell something delicious coming from the kitchen, and in a flash Charles was off to find the source.

Bugger.

"Oh!" He heard his mother cry out from the kitchen, "What on Earth?"

"It's all right, Mother," Armand called from the front hall, kicking off his shoes and setting them in their usual spot. "Jared dropped him off to ... keep me company here."

"This really isn't a good time, Armand..."

Rolling his eyes, he tossed his jacket into the closet, shut it, and then made his way to the kitchen. Running a hand through his damp hair, he let out a chuckle, "Look, I know I should have told you, but he's not going to be..."

Armand trailed off when he spotted the strangest looking man he had ever seen in his life next to his mother. She was at the sink, wiping it down after having done the dishes (no doubt) and he leaning on the counter, red eyes staring at the young man intently. Charles was about a foot or so away from the fellow, leaning forward as much as he could without actually being close to sniff at his dark suit.

"... a problem," he finished with a frown. "I... I didn't know you were having company tonight."

It was hard not to stare at the oddity in his familiar kitchen. He had seen enough gruesome images of what disease could do the human body to not be completely stunned by the fellow's exterior – bald, no nose, eyebrows or lips (to a degree), and completely scarlet eyes. The young doctor tried to rack his brain quickly to come up with a disease that would present itself like that, but nothing was coming to mind. Perhaps a terminally ill patient of some sort of cancer, or a victim of intense frostbite, but he wouldn't be standing here so casually. And there was certainly no way his mother would have known him; his mother didn't know anyone. Speaking of his mother... the redhead looked somewhat anxious. She was fiddling with the dishcloth in her hands, clad only in her bathrobe. Something was off, he could tell.

"Yes," she said finally, breaking the silence between the three, "I had thought you might be at work later tonight... I... I wanted some time to think of way to properly explain this."

"Hardly a difficult concept to grasp, Deidre," the man crooned, his voice raspy, like a smoker's, yet at a pitch a touch too high to be natural. "After all, he is such a smart boy, isn't he?"

She nodded, and Charles uttered something of a low growl in the man's general direction. He seemed to be getting the same vibe that Armand was, "Charles. Come here."

The dog was momentarily hesitant, but once he repeated his command the dog obeyed, standing next to his knees somewhat stiffly. He cleared his throat, ignoring the man entirely, as he had an air of comfort in _Armand's_ house that the doctor wasn't completely comfortable with.

"Mother, who is he? If you're... seeing someone, you don't need to put it delicately. I'm not a child."

Honestly, if she was finally in some sort of romantic relationship, even with a fellow who looked like that, Armand would be happy. She hadn't mentioned anything in any of their correspondences, nor in their recent chats, but perhaps she was trying to keep it a surprise. Or a secret.

She nibbled on her lip momentarily, and then shook her head, "No, Armand, it's not what you think."

"A... friend, then?"

"No," she said quickly, taking a few steps toward him and resting her hands on the back of a chair. "This is a lot to take in, and I understand if you'll be a little... confused at first. You see... your father has come back to us."

His eyes traveled between the pair in front of him quickly, eyebrows knitting together in a deepening frown, "What?"

"I know," his mother remarked, seeming oddly neutral on the subject. "He... It's... dark magic, and a lot of other things, but he's managed to come back from the dead after all these years."

Armand stared at the man, waiting to see if this was some sort of joke. The fellow just stared back, and he felt an odd tingling sensation at the back of his head. Breaking their connection, he scratched at it absently and returned his focus to his mother, "I don't understand."

"I know," she sighed, pulling out the chair in front of her. "Maybe we could sit down and talk about it-"

The shrill screech of his pager went off suddenly, causing her to jump, and he glanced down at it. He could have sworn that he turned it off once he left the office, as he usually did, but perhaps having Charles with him set off his routine just a touch this time.

"Armand?"

"One moment," he grumbled, feeling a headache coming on. "It's Regan... I need... I need to call her."

He turned back to the phone hanging on the wall by the kitchen door, not wanting to stray too far from his mother in a time like this, and then hastily called back his sister's number. It took about three rings for her to pick up, but when she did, his ears were met with the blasting music of the club she was no doubt wasting all her money at.

"Armand?" she shouted, making him cringe. "Can you hear me?"

"Yes, what do you want?" he sniped, shooting a glance back to the man that was supposed to be his father.

"I n-need you to come get me."

"This really isn't a good time, Regan," he stated, echoing his mother's comment a few minutes earlier. "Can't you just grab a taxi? I'll pay for it."

"No," she whined. "Please just come get me."

From the way her voice wobbled he could tell she had either been crying already, or she was about to cry now, and a drunk and crying Regan wasn't something he wanted to let wander the streets of Newcastle alone at night for long.

"All right. Where are you?"

"I don't know."

"Well, I can't find you if you don't know where you are. Ask someone," he ordered, rolling his eyes slightly. He could hear her speaking to someone in the background, and he turned to his mother, "She needs me to go fetch her."

"Is she all right?" she inquired, looking more concerned than she ought to be. Armand nodded, and then heard Regan shout the name of the club into the phone. It was about a twenty minute drive into town to get there, but the traffic shouldn't be a problem at night, so it wasn't too big of an issue. Besides, he needed to get out of the house for a while to let this new... information sink into his head.

"I'll be there soon," he stated loudly, but she had already hung up. Twit. He hung up the phone quickly, stuck his pager back in his pocket in case she called again, and then turned to face his present company, "Look, I'll be back in a half hour with Regan. I just... I need a bit of time to think myself."

"That's fair," his mother agreed as she shot a look back to his "father", who said nothing. Without waiting for another nod of approval, Armand left the kitchen, Charles at his heels. Couldn't bring this guy downtown with him; Regan was likely to start pulling at his fur in a drunken state. Such a child, whenever she was intoxicated.

Not that that was the issue, or anything. He ordered Charles to stay inside, and shouted for his mother to remember that the dog was there, and after throwing his jacket over his shoulders and slipping into his still damp shoes, he was gone. As he had predicted, the streets were quiet. It was a weekday, anyway. Sure, downtown might be a touch busier around the clubs, but most people were settling in for a good night's sleep before having to drag themselves out of bed for work the next day. Armand, it seemed, would not be doing either at this point. If this man was truly his father (slightly doubtful), and he had somehow found way to come back to life (even more doubtful), then there was going to be a lot of explaining on his part. Where the Hell had he been all these years? Why couldn't he have come back sooner?

It wasn't as though he was upset for himself; Armand wasn't particularly crushed when news of his tyrannical father's death reached the house, but he couldn't stand the way it completely destroyed his mother. Of course he was upset; Voldemort was the only father he had ever known... Lucius was a replacement for some time, naturally, but the decidedly cold dark wizard was what he would forever associate with "father". Their relationship, from what he could remember, was odd. Armand could never remember being treated like a boy when he was young, even though Regan was the spoiled princess of the house whenever Voldemort stuck around long enough to do so. Armand was a pupil, and while his father's extensive knowledge of the magical world had made him intellectually curious at a young age, it also made him slightly socially inept with other people his age.

But his childhood wasn't the issue. Well, it was. Was it? There were so many things that needed to be addressed in a therapy session for Armand's life that he couldn't even begin to think of what was the real pressing issue. For now, he wanted to be sure that this was truly his father, and not some imposter come home to torment his mother further. Coming back to life was possible, some of his textbooks had said, but it was dangerous (obviously), and carried such inherent risks to the soul that many wizards wouldn't even fathom attempting it. Naturally, his father was no ordinary wizard, from what his mother had told him as he got older, so the idea of this return to life needed to be weighed in with his personality too.

When he pulled up to the club Regan had slurred into the phone, he spotted her standing by the curb in a slinky black dress, stupidly high heels, and her black hair swept back into a ponytail. Her arms were folded, and she swayed back and forth between having and losing her balance. His grey car came up to her neatly, and he unbuckled his seat belt to get out and help her in, but she seemed to do that just fine on her own. She landed in a bit of a mess beside him in the front seat, and sniffled noisily.

"What the Hell happened to your eye?" Armand said suddenly when he noticed the large purpling bruise over her left eye.

She scoffed noisily, and then turned on the radio, "Some Muggle whore punched me because I stepped on her foot. Can we j-just go home? I feel like I'm going to hurl."

"Do it out the window," he grunted and flicked on the air conditioner for her, hoping to ease the oncoming nausea. "How drunk are you?"

"I'm fine."

"How many drinks did you have?"

"A lot."

"Lovely."

"I'm just a bit loopy right now," she snapped irritably. "The bitch _ruined_ my night with the girls from work, and all that alcohol was w-wasted because I can feel it going away."

"Right," he sighed as they turned back into the main road. "Well, I'm going to put you to bed once we get in... Actually, no, bread and water first, then bed."

"Yes, Mum," she giggled, fiddling with the radio stations suddenly to find a good tune. "Is she still up?"

Armand frowned. It probably wouldn't be worth it to try and explain to Regan that their father had miraculously shown up at the house today... or whenever he came by. She wouldn't understand it, and it might just fluster her into acting more ridiculous than she already was. No, best wait until the morning.

"She's up," he replied, swatting her hand away from the radio dials irritably. "Stop. The music is fine."

"You have a r-rubbish taste in music," Regan grinned, smoothing her hands down the front of her dress. "Do you like my dress?"

"Bit short. Is it new?"

"Just bought it today," she trilled, fiddling with the cleavage area to cover herself up a bit. "Had all the Muggles drooling over me."

"Lucky you."

"I know, right?"

He shot her a look, which caused her to smirk impishly and then shrug. The girl was such a flirt with those Muggles it was ridiculous. He wasn't particularly sure if she had ever really slept with any of them – not that he wanted to know those details – but she certainly led them on long enough to make him think she did. But that was her business, how she wanted to handle living in the Muggle world, and he wasn't about to criticize her for it.

"Look, before we go inside," Armand started as they turned the corner to their street. "Mum has a friend over. A male friend. Just... don't do anything too drunk around him, all right?"

"A male friend?" Regan repeated, a look of dramatized shock on her face, "Do tell!"

"Nothing to tell," he lied, flicking on his turning signal as the car came up to their driveway. "He was there when I got home, which was literally minutes before you paged me... I'm not too sure about him. And don't comment on how he looks-"

"Is he fat?" Regan demanded, pursing her lips momentarily, "I knew mum would settle."

"What? No," Armand snorted, rolling his eyes. "He has some sort of facial... problems. No hair, and something is just... wrong."

"All that medical school a-and all you can say is 'something is wrong'?" she laughed as the car rolled to a stop. "Glad you aren't my doctor, brother dear."

"Bugger off," he grumbled pleasantly, getting out of the car and into the light spitting storm they seemed to be having. "Just be good and do as I say. Bread, water, bed."

"I swear," she sang sweetly as she stumbled out of the car. Armand marched round to the other side to help her steady herself in those damn heels, and then walked her inside, clutching at her elbow for support. However, the moment he let go of her to shut the door, she was off, rushing down the hallway, calling for their mother as she went.

"Oh, Regan!" he heard their mother exclaim when his sister found them in the kitchen, "What happened to your face?"

"Stepped on some Muggle bitch's foot, or something," Regan said dismissively as Armand caught up to her. She was leaning on their mother for support, eyeing Voldemort from across the kitchen curiously. To her credit, she didn't look like she was gawking or anything, but it was quite obvious who she was looking at, "_Who_ is your guest?"

"I told you, Regan," Armand said quickly, cutting off his mother before she could try to explain it the same sloppy way she did for him. "Mother has a friend over. Bread, water, bed. And ice for your eye."

"Stop being a spoilsport, Armand," Regan sneered, shooting him a look before turning her attention back to their supposed father. "He never lets me have any fun. Uptight sod. Now, what kind of 'friend' are you?"

Armand placed a small handful of ice into a towel, navigating around Voldemort without actually making eye contact with him, and then placed it on Regan's eye.

"Ouch!"

"Hold it," he ordered firmly, letting go once their mother took over. Voldemort was switching his attention back and forth between the children, a slight look of annoyance on his face. He knew that look. Clear picture in his memory. Ignoring the man, he grabbed two slices of bread from the fridge, filled up a cup of water, and then took another look at Regan's eye while their mother fussed over her. It was turning a darker shade than he had seen in the car, but it wasn't as bad as it could have been. She was definitely going to be sore in the morning.

"Bed," he sighed as he tugged at her arm toward the kitchen door.

"I'm not tired," she snapped, pulling back. "Sod off."

"Regan," their mother chimed in, finally. "Upstairs. Now."

Armand looked back and forth between the two of them, frustrated that he could see the similarities arise over their drunkenness. He had taken care of his drunk mother a few times in his day, most of which she had forgotten about because she was so sloshed. In fact, she had always thought that she kept it all so well hidden. Ha. And now here was Regan, defiant and stumbling and fumbling over words. These women, honestly.

"No," she whined, trying to loosen herself from both of them. "Tell me who your _friend_ is first!"

"All right, that's it," Armand snapped, shoving the bread and water into his mother's hands. "Bed, Regan. Come on."

Before she could stop him, he ducked down and scooped her up, and then flipped her over his shoulder. He was lucky she was small, otherwise this might have been a touch more difficult. However, seeing as her size was never an obstacle for anyone, it was more than easy to get her out of the kitchen, up the stairs and into her own room. From there, his mother took over with getting her out of her clubbing clothes and potentially into a shower before bed. His task was done; retrieval, and then some. He was officially off-duty for the night.

Although he didn't really want to be downstairs with that man, he couldn't stay upstairs. The second floor was too small to not deal with Regan, so the only way to avoid her was to go downstairs. Once down there, he removed his jacket for a second time, and then frowned. Where was Charles?

"Charles?" he called, looking into the sitting room, and then quickly into the living room. He should have greeted them when they came home.

"Your mother put him outside," a raspy voice explained from a seat at the table in the kitchen. He could just see the man from down the hallway, and since he had addressed him directly, there was no chance at avoiding him anymore. However, before dealing with him, he quickly ran to the backdoor and let the dog back inside. He was a bit wet, and was definitely going to stink a bit, but that was the least of his problems right now.

Once the dog was given a fresh bowl of water and some food from his bag, Armand returned to the kitchen. Voldemort remained rooted to his seat, one arm resting across the back of the chair beside him, the other on the table. He cocked his head to the side when Armand entered, and then looked him up and down a few times.

"Does she get like that often?"

"Regan?" Armand clarified stiffly. The man nodded, and he shrugged, "When she's going out to have a good time, she's going to be like any other young adult and get drunk. She's fine until she gets sick... should be any minute. Then there's lots of crying, and you can finally just put her to bed."

"You handle her very well."

"I know my sister," he remarked, remaining in the doorway with his arms folded across his chest. "Just like I know my mother, and care very deeply for both of them."

"Poetic."

His eyes narrowed, "I don't care about how you came back to life right now. With everything we've been through, you could be a trick."

"I'm not."

"How can I be sure?"

"Because you should remember who your father is, and exactly what he is capable of," Voldemort scoffed, raising what would have been an eyebrow. "I have achieved immortality, Armand."

"You'll understand when I say I don't fully believe you," he stated plainly, "but I'll hear all about it in the morning. I can't... I can't process this when I'm this tired."

"I'd rather you be alert when I tell you," the man sighed, drumming his fingers on the table. "My tolerance for uselessness still stands as it once did."

"I remember."

"Good."

Definitely too tired to deal with something as life-changing as this right now. He turned on his heel, ready to depart for bed when he heard Regan sobbing something incoherent to their mother upstairs. Ah, that must mean the throwing up was done with, and he would be able to get some decent sleep soon. He could hear their mother comforting her softly, the way she always did, and it made him pause.

A weary expression on his face, he turned back to the kitchen and met the man's gaze finally, "My mother died when you did."

Eyebrows shot up in a response, and Armand shrugged once more, "I just... I thought you should know."


	18. So I invited him in

_You want my love? Take it all. _

_- Marion Cotillard - 'Nine'_

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_**PRESENT DAY – JULY 1999 **_

Ugh. The first thing Regan felt when she drifted back to consciousness was her head spinning feverishly. Her stomach was clenched, mostly because she had thrown up just about everything she ate and drank the night before... or... this morning... Whenever. However, that didn't make her morning hangover any easier, and as she slowly opened her eyes, she felt a fresh wave of nausea sinking in. It took her a few moments to simmer down, and with a few calming breathing exercises, she managed to sit up without feeling anything come screaming up for a quick escape. Accomplishment. With a glance at her clock, she was mildly pleased to see that it was only 11, and she hadn't wasted her entire day away sleeping. Although it was glorious to have a lie in every once and a while, she usually felt like it was a massive waste of time. Thankfully, she had the day off work; otherwise this could have been a whole lot worse. Running a hand through her exceptionally messy hair, which was still stiff from the hairspray she had used to keep her stray pieces down last night, she pondered silently how her co-workers were feeling. She didn't remember too much of the night before, only that Armand came to pick her up, and she puked.

And some bitch punched her in the face.

Biting her lip, she held in a little whimper as she touched her eye. A quick stumble across her room revealed her mother had dressed her in one of Armand's old t-shirts (which could have been a dress, really... tall sod), and there was a rather dark bruise forming around her eye. Fantastic. Nothing that make-up couldn't cover up, really, but it was quite painful now. She didn't remember it hurting that much before... Anyway. Pulling on a pair of slippers, she stumbled out of her room and down to the bathroom that she and Armand shared. Her brother was gone to work, as she surmised from his open door and empty room, and as she sat on the toilet to relieve herself, she could hear her mother in the private bath having a shower. It half occurred to her to flush the toilet, just because, but she couldn't be that cruel... not while hung over. Wouldn't be able to endure the shouting, really. Instead, she let her mother have her lukewarm shower, and after a moment or so of attempting to wipe off the dark make-up from her uninjured eye, she simply gave up and made her way downstairs.

"Oh, fuck," she snapped as she was nearly bowled over by a rather excited Charles, who had been lying at the bottom of the stairs facing the front door. No doubt waiting for Armand to come home. She gave the dog a friendly once over, pleased that he was going to stay with them for a little while. Regan had always liked the dog... bit clumsy, and he always knocked things over, but it could have been worse. Though she had to wonder why Jared simply came up and dropped the dog off... Why didn't he come stay for a bit? She would have to ask Armand once he got home from another one of his ridiculously long shifts. Honestly, what was the point of them being home together if they were never going to see each other? She loved spending time with her brother! Yes, he could be a stuck-up twat sometimes, but usually they got along splendidly, and she really wished they lived closer to spend more time together.

Once Charles had received the ample attention he deserved, Regan started off toward the kitchen, dragging her feet with each step. The more time she was up and moving around, the more she felt like complete and utter shit. Honestly, why couldn't the human body handle alcohol better? She would have to ask Armand when he got home. However, as she got closer to the kitchen, the delicious scent of coffee caught her attention, and she sped up slightly, eyes fixated on the kettle when she got in. A victorious grin appeared on her lips when she saw that the coffee was black – the only way she would drink it – and then scrambled about noisily to find a mug, cursing loudly whenever she tripped over something or got caught on a corner. However, once that steaming cup of goodness was in her hands, everything seemed to melt away, and she slid into her usual chair at the table with ease.

"It's the only way I'll have my coffee too, you know," a nasally, yet hoarse, voice stated, causing her to flinch. She had been so preoccupied with getting her coffee and drinking it that she hadn't even spotted the figure seated at the table. Looking up sharply, she couldn't help but stare at him. He seemed vaguely familiar, and she was sure that they... well, they might have met last night, but she couldn't place anything else together in her mind about him.

He was horrible to look at. Just... horrible. But Regan blinked away her urge to continue gawking at him, and then cleared her throat, "I'm sorry... What?"

"Black," he mused, holding up his own mug, which had been resting at the side of the newspaper that he must have been reading. "Never been one for your mother's infernal addiction to sugars and milk in it."

"No," Regan agreed slowly, still unsure if this was some hung-over hallucination (maybe she was still drunk?), or what to think of anything. "No, her coffee tastes like absolute shit."

He gave something of a nod, and then took a sip as silence settled between them. With a frown, Regan shifted in her seat, ignoring the fact that she was sitting before some strange man in nothing but a t-shirt. Regan was never one for modesty.

"I'm sorry," she said finally after the man returned to reading the paper, scoffing a touch as he did, "but who are you?"

His red eyes flickered up at her, and he folded the paper shut, "Do you remember anything from last night?"

"Not really," she admitted freely with a shrug of her shoulders, "I was pretty drunk."

"That you were."

"Look," she snapped, her eyes narrowing irritably at him, "don't judge me, all right? I had a good night out with my girls."

"Yes, your eye in indicative of what a fantastic time it was," he chuckled, nodding at her bruised eye callously. "What a pity you do not have the magical means to fix it."

The girl coughed a touch as her coffee slid down her throat, shocked at his words. Right, this definitely wasn't normal. Mind you, the way he looked should have given that away, but there were a great many fucked up looking people in this world, so she wasn't about to judge. However, she wasn't about to let a quip like that slip away. She had been waiting years and years for someone outside their family to initiate anything magical of any kind, and it seemed like her time had finally come.

"Are you... Are you a wizard?" she inquired, feeling a touch stupid as the words left her lips. Fuck, if only her head would stop hurting, she probably wouldn't sound like a complete moron.

"I am."

"Really?" she asked rhetorically, getting up from her chair at one end of the table and moving down a few so she was right next to him. "Can I see your wand?"

He stared at her curiously for a moment, and then reached into the depths of his left sleeve, which was rather large and quite unstylish (in her opinion), and then presented her with a light brown, slightly knobby looking stick. After another second or so of studying her, he gently turned it around to show her the handle, which he then permitted her to take from him. It was electrifying, holding a real wand. It was as though something deep inside her rumbled back to life (and it wasn't nausea, this time), and she felt the tingle run all the way up her arm and down to the tips of her toes.

"I don't really need it," he commented passively as she examined it, "but it was difficult to win, so I see no point in getting rid of it."

"You won it?" she remarked absently, her eyes fixated on the wand in her hands, "Don't you go buy a wand from someone?"

"Usually," the man replied calmly, a somewhat pleased tone to his voice, "but this one is special... A king among wands, if you will."

"Wow," she breathed, and then set it down gently in his hand when he held it out to her. "I've never been allowed a wand. ... Don't even think Mum has one on her anymore."

"No, she does not," he said stiffly."It was most unfortunate that you were denied your proper magical education, Regan. Highly disappointing that neither of you are where you should be."

She continued to watch the wand as he tucked it away safely, and then shook her head. Right. This was all too strange, "Again... Who are you?"

"Your mother had wanted to do this _delicately_," he sneered, rolling his eyes, "but I see no point to it. My followers call me Lord Voldemort, but you, if you wish, may address me as 'father'-"

"I'm sorry," Regan cut in, her throbbing head angrily crying out as she tried to process this. "My father died when I was quite young..."

He sighed noisily, as though it was the simplest concept in the world, "I did. A part of me died... but my soul lived on, and through ancient magic I was able to bring myself back to this world after thirteen very long years in limbo."

Regan settled back into her chair, nibbling on her lip as she sunk into thought. How... How could this be?

"Do I need to find a way to prove it to you, as it seems I must do with _everyone_ in this family?" he demanded irritably, arching a non-existent eyebrow at her.

She pondered his inquiry only for a moment, and then looked up at him, "No. My father was an exceptional wizard... and if anyone could find a way to come back from death, or whatever happened, it would be him."

The man seemed a touch taken back, and for a moment returned to his silent gaze. She felt it for as long as she felt comfortable, and then looked down. There was a strange turning in her stomach; excitement. She had longed for a wizard to rescue her from this Hell hole, but should that wizard turn out to be her father... Well, it was a situation she would have never expected in her lifetime to see. Suddenly, he leaned forward and cupped her cheek, drawing her eyes back up to him quickly.

"You always were my favourite," he muttered in Parseltongue as he stroked her cheek with his bony thumb. "You have yet to disappoint me."

The words, along with the language they were spoken in, made her insides squirm happily, and she grasped his wrist, wanting to keep the contact forever. This was him. She had absolutely no doubt in her mind that her father would have been able to find a way to cheat death, and while she wanted to beg him to explain how it was done, that could wait. For now, she only desired to keep this moment going for as long as possible.

Her father frowned momentarily, and then retracted his hand, only to take hold of her wrist and pull it closer to examine the snake tattoo on it. She had gotten it when she was 15 or so, and it curved delicately around the slender flesh of her wrist, with the head of the snake resting neatly on the corner of her hand, mouth open to her palm.

"What is this?" he asked quietly, eyes fixated on the marking.

"I got it for you," Regan replied, causing him to look up. "As a symbol for our family... Are we not the descendants of Salazar Slytherin?"

Yes, she had read all those stupid textbooks Dumbledore had sent. Her mother had filled her in vaguely on what she knew of her father's line, and the connections were drawn that paternally she and Armand were Slytherin's heirs, just like her father.

"We are," he noted, approval etched in his eyes, "but you know what a forearm brand stands for amongst my servants?"

She shook her head, and he informed her that it stood for servitude. With a shrug, she leaned in, "I'd be more than happy to serve-"

"No," her father snapped, causing her to flinch. "That isn't your place, Regan."

"But-"

"You are my daughter, not my servant," he remarked as he leaned back in his chair, coffee long forgotten to both. "There is a distinction between that."

Regan mimicked his stance, sinking back into her chair as an air of comfort drifted down upon the pair. There was still so much so had to learn – clearly – and so much she wanted from him. Suddenly, a thought occurred to her, "You aren't going to leave us, are you?"

She fidgeted under his gaze, and then leaned forward again, "Please don't leave us in this Hell. Armand may adapt to Muggles with ease, but I can't stand the filth! Please! Please don't just go-"

"Enough, Regan" he admonished softly, holding up his hand to silence her, "I will wait for your brother to return home, and tomorrow I will bring all three of you with me to my summer headquarters at Hogwarts."

"Really?" she squealed, unable to control herself, "We're going to Hogwarts?"

"While school is not in session, I am moving my entire operation back to the castle and its surrounding village," he explained."I have lived there before, but I found the student population distracting... Now that they are gone, I cannot stay away. It's one of my favourite places, you know?"

"I'll bet," she agreed quickly, nodding her head. "Are we going to get wands? Are we going to learn proper magic?"

"The sooner the better," her father sighed with a slight roll of his eyes, "I cannot simply let my progeny wander around magic-less."

"No, very disgraceful, we are," she chuckled, hangover completely gone. "I can't wait. Can we leave today?"

"I feel as if your brother will need a touch more persuasion before we leave-"

"Armand's a twat, but he won't give up the chance to actually put his magic to use," Regan interrupted, nearly bouncing in her chair. "You should see what he can do! He's a lot better than I am... He can do a whole heap of nonverbal spells. Really smart, that boy."

"Good. And yourself?"

"I dunno," she admitted somewhat weakly, forcing a smile. "I made a lot of things blow up when I was younger... Set a Muggle girl's hair on fire in pre-school, apparently..."

Her anecdote about torturing a Muggle seemed to satisfy him, as he released a rather hearty bout of laughter, something quite uncharacteristic it seemed, and then touched her hand, his abnormally long fingers wrapping around hers. She had pleased him. She would continue to do so, no matter what. From there, Regan launched in various other stories of her repeated torture of Muggles over her school years, most of which had been accidental, but she played it off as if she knew exactly what she had been doing all along.

Had she bothered to look behind her, she would have noticed her mother lingering in the doorway, watching the pair with a worried frown.

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**AUTHOR'S NOTE:**

Sorry this one is a bit on the shorter side, but I've got BIG PLANS for the next chapter, and wanted to get started on it ASAP. We're about to become reacquainted with the rest of the lovable characters from the HP world, so sit tight for the ride. As always, much love for the continuous support for this story! I hope I can continue to entertain!


	19. My beloved was weighed down

_You want to watch it all come off? Take it all. _

_- Marion Cotillard, Nine_

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_**PRESENT DAY – JULY, 1999**_

It was going to be so strange to leave her family home. Naturally, she shouldn't have come to think of her prison as her home, but this little house that she had lived in for … well, nearly two decades now, had become her sanctuary from the outside Muggle world. Deidre stared at her bedroom one last time, knowing full well that most of the clothing in her closet and from her drawers was now on its way to Hogwarts, where it would remain, as she would, for Merlin knows how long.

She had called Armand at work the day before at around noon, and asked that he come home early. He seemed haggard on the phone, and although she thought a break from paperwork and bratty Muggle children would have been a nice reprieve for him, the young man was not pleased with her when he returned home at around five in the afternoon. In fact, he was nearly the opposite of his sister, who had spent the majority of her day hovering around her father, questions flying a mile a minute. If Deidre had done that to him, she was quite sure Voldemort would have irritably dismissed her at some point. Instead, he simply sat back and listened, pleased that his daughter had such an inquisitive mind about his world. Their world. Armand was less than curious, unfortunately. Deidre had a sinking suspicion that although he was anxious to try out his magic, he had found his niche in the Muggle world, and didn't particularly want to leave it. Naturally she left those opinions to herself, and while she felt for the boy, she wasn't about to let him get stuck here while the rest of them returned to where they ought to rightfully be.

Voldemort insisted that he persuade their son in private, but Deidre could already see how that would be an absolutely terrible idea. Armand was not taking to him as quickly as Regan had, and with the boy's usually dormant temper threatening to snap at the man, she figured it would be better if she alone convinced him it would be best to re-join the wizarding world. After about an hour of careful cajoling, she managed to get him to agree to spend the rest of the summer at Hogwarts with the family. Moodily, he phoned his office and explained that there had been a death in the immediate family, and he would not be returning to work. From there, he called Jared to tell him that he was going to be traveling for the rest of the summer overseas, but would bring Charles with him, and not to worry.

Jared had been kept a secret from Voldemort. While Deidre was _barely_ accepting of the man, she knew her husband would never accept the fact that his son had fallen in love in a Muggle, let alone a male Muggle. So, for now, that was kept under the rug until it was necessary to bring up. Voldemort did, however, also need some convincing when it came to bringing Charles along for the ride. While Deidre made a half-hearted attempt to justify Armand bringing the animal, her son put his foot down that it was his responsibility to care for the dog, and in order to do that he would need to bring him to Hogwarts. A tense conversation, to be sure, but in the end Armand got his way, and Charles' food dish and other necessities were thrown in his backpack before they departed. Regan packed up her room quite quickly, and by the time a group of young men arrived in the house, men Deidre definitely didn't recognize, she was rearing to go.

The young wizards had apparated back and forth for nearly an hour, in the process moving all of her family's belongings back to Hogwarts. They would leave the next morning, but Voldemort wanted most of their goods there before they arrived. It would save them time in the long run, which she could understand. Once that task had been completed, Deidre cooked her whole family a meal, and later that evening settled in to watch her husband transform their rustic Muggle fireplace into a part of the Floo network. As the property had no magic on it, there were a few things he needed to do in order to make it functional, which included making it easier to stand in. The children were in and out, and for the first time Armand managed to show some interest in his father as he masterfully handled the raw material before him. Deidre had always enjoyed watching him work, and simply sat on the opposite couch in silence for much of the time, a cup of tea in her hands. Charles popped in occasionally to sniff at the expanding fireplace, but a rather irritated look from her husband sent him sulking off in the opposite direction.

Once he had finished, the pair sat on the couch for a very long time. Most of it was spent in silence, his arm resting on the back of the couch while she leaned against him. It was a familiar setting, the two in front of a fireplace in this position. Every now and again they would have a fleeting conversation about her magic, or her life, or the children… Anything that came to mind, really. She could tell by the tone of his voice that he wasn't pleased overall with the way she handled things, but that was to be expected. He had never seen her as a perfect wife, or a perfect mother, so she had little expectation for him to start now.

They retired around eleven, much earlier than her children, but probably weren't asleep for another hour or so. It had been too long since she had a warm body in her bed that she could actually touch, and she was sure he felt the same way. It didn't take long for old habits to kick in; they had to cast a silencing charm around the room to spare their very adult children the details of their very adult encounter, but Deidre didn't care. That was one area of her marriage that she was quite sure she still knew how to satisfy him, which was always encouraging.

When morning came, Deidre was only mildly shocked to find Regan downstairs cooking breakfast before she was. The pair continued together, Deidre subtly correcting her daughter's cooking mistakes without much notice… Regan was never much of a cook, to be honest. She did her best, but in the end after two very burnt eggs, she told the dark-haired girl to start making some toast and buttering it for her father. It would keep her busy, and the task was simple. Her boys showed up some time later, no doubt roused by the smell of bacon, and the family ate their second meal together quickly, as Voldemort wished to return to the castle as soon as possible. He had other things to do aside from introduce his family back to his world, Deidre knew, but she didn't want the children to be rushed with anything. She shot him a warning look whenever his tone sounded too impatient with a question, but she wasn't really sure it did anything.

When they were all finally ready, and Charles stopped bouncing around the house when Armand retrieved his leash, they stood before the fireplace. Her husband presented her with a small bag of Floo Powder, and then nodded at the mantel. He had planned to apparate there, but she was to first show the children how the network worked so they wouldn't get lost.

"All right," she sighed as she grabbed a handful of powder, and then handed the bag to Regan. "This might be a bit… jarring at first. Do not panic. Speak very, very clearly, and you will be transported from one fireplace to another. Understand?"

They both nodded, and Regan was nearly bouncing as she said, "Come on, come on, come on, I want to see how it's done!"

With a chuckle and a slight roll of her eyes, she ducked her head a touch to get into the fireplace, and then turned to face them, "Hogsmeade. Say it very clearly. It's the village just outside of the castle."

Another rushed nod, and she took a deep breath, held her arm out before her, and then threw the powder at her feet, shouting the name of the old Hogwarts village in the process. One moment her children were there, watching her curiously, and the next she was engulfed in bright green flames, warm but never too hot. Suddenly, she was there. She was back in her world. A dim room appeared before her, and she realized that the central meeting place in the village was the Three Broomsticks. The redhead quickly stumbled out, brushing the small coating of dust from her clothing. She had gone with an older vintage dress; a pale green, square necked, and to her knees, with a pair of Regan's light yellow little flats. Wizarding fashion always seem to age slowly, so she was quite sure she would blend in faster than Regan in her jean shorts and white wife-beater.

A few of the patrons looked up from their morning eggs at the bar, and she noticed a couple start whispering to one another. However, she returned her focus to the fireplace, and a moment later Regan came shooting out, looking quite exhilarated in the process. Her face was covered in soot, and her white shirt definitely needed a wash, but she looked beyond caring. Deidre grabbed a napkin and handed it to her to wipe her face as she prattled excitedly.

"That was _amazing_!" she gushed, "Can we do it again?"

"It's not a theme park ride, Regan," Deidre chided, amused. "But it will be the way you travel longer distances for now, since you can't apparate, and I wouldn't want you to… It's very unpleasant at first."

"I'm sure I'll love it," the girl protested, shaking her head as she pulled her straight hair back into a ponytail. A moment later, Armand tumbled out, just catching himself in time on a nearby stool to keep from face planting. Charles was at his side, and Deidre frowned; could dogs use the Network? She had no idea, actually, and she was quite sure her husband sent the mutt in there with the hopes that he would get fried in the process. But, the animal looked perfectly intact, and he too seemed a little hyper from the sudden change.

"That was brilliant," Armand admitted, shaking off the soot from his hair. "Is that how everyone travels at first? I remember reading about it, but I never thought I would get to experience it."

"You will experience many things in the next month," Voldemort insisted quietly as he emerged from a darkened corner, causing Regan to jump. "This is the first of many."

He seemed smug as he addressed his son, clearly pleased that the young man was taken with magic after a morning of sulking.

"My lord!" a male voice exclaimed from the bar, "Welcome back!"

Deidre turned around, a frown on her lips as she noticed the patrons were now approaching them, "We wondered if this was your family returning to us…. So pleased to see you all in one piece!"

"Yes, thank you, Gibbet," Voldemort remarked absently, almost ignoring the man's bow except for a slight nod, "but we cannot stay. They have much to do today."

"Oh, of course!" the rather round man trilled, nodding his head as he shook Armand's hand feverishly. "The name's Gibbet, and you're more than welcome to anything on the house at the ol' Broomsticks!"

"Thank you," Armand said slowly, retracting his hand as Charles sniffed the man curiously, "I'll… We'll keep that in mind."

"I want to see outside," Regan interjected noisily before this Gibbet fellow could address her. She grabbed her brother's arm, and then dragged him past their father and toward the front door. The patrons backed away as the children moved, no doubt sensing her husband's annoyance with their intrusion, and also in an effort to not overstep their boundaries by appearing overly familiar. Deidre recognized none of them, which could only mean they were inhabitants of the village; none of his inner circle.

"She is forceful," her husband noted as they followed in the children's wake.

"Haven't you noticed?" Deidre mused, "Regan's a princess."

He smiled slightly, and then offered the crook of his arm to her, which she wrapped her own around with ease. Once outside, her eyes finally landed on her children peering in the windows of Dogweed and Deathcap, a shop for exotic plants. Charles seemed to be having the time of his life, sniffing every inch of anything in front of him. When she and her husband appeared outside, Deidre noticed that the people milling about in the street took notice, and began to make the connection between their dark lord and the extra three people accompanying him. From there on out, she was swamped with people approaching her to welcome her home, some having the nerve to grasp her hand or kiss her ring, which she had finally started wearing on her finger again.

"I forgot how much people like to touch me," she muttered, pulling her hand away and wiping it on her dress as a young couple scurried off, looking somewhat pleased with themselves.

"I knew we should have gone straight to the castle," Voldemort stated firmly, glaring at the next few people who attempted to come near them. The look was enough to send them in the other direction.

"I wanted them to see Hogsmeade as their first magical experience," Deidre explained half-heartedly, watching as Regan blatantly stepped around a fellow in order to get a better look at the Zonko's gift shop. "It's not as overwhelming as the castle is."

"They aren't made of glass, you know," he remarked. "I'm quite sure they would be able to handle more things that you give them credit for."

"This is a lot for anyone," she argued pointedly. "I want them to enjoy it… They've been denied all this for too long."

"I suppose."

Deidre had been denied this for far too long. Although she looked somewhat neutral outwardly, inside her failed school girl was leaping for joy to be back in Hogsmeade. That was probably the main reason she wanted to go to the village first; it was her happy place during her school years, and it pleased her to note that nothing had changed.

They continued their walk along the familiar path, leading the children the way they both knew students marched on weekends to get back to the Hogwarts castle. For the most part, the children were on their own, staring in shop windows and occasionally accepting the compliments and greetings people gave them. No one in the street was going to be a part of the inner circle that Deidre knew, so she merely shrugged them off with a feigned politeness that seemed to make her husband proud. She was good with handling his supporters, but on a day like today, she was in no mood for politics and playing the public image.

"Can we buy things?" Regan asked, suddenly appearing behind them, her face flushed.

"First thing I plan on purchasing for you are your wands," her husband replied as she sidled up on the other side of him. "From there, we can look at buying you things in the village."

"I guess you're just not pretty enough to have people give you things, Regan," Armand chuckled loudly as he too approached them, a rather large plant in his spare hand. "Some man saw me looking at this through the window and just gave it to me… Excellent healing properties, actually, so I don't really mind…"

"Well I wouldn't want some _plant_," Regan sneered, rolling her eyes. "There are much more interesting things out there."

Before he could come up with a response, which she was sure would have been very witty, Deidre heard her name called out from behind her. The voice was distantly familiar, and with a curious expression on her face, she turned back to find its source. It hardly took more than a moment, and Deidre brought a hand up to her mouth as a few tears sprung to her eyes.

Narcissa.

The redhead stepped away from her husband, and for a brief moment wondered if Lucius had shared their terrible secret with his wife. However, the way that the woman looked so emotional as she marched toward her, and not in an infuriated way, made her think that their secret was safe for just a little while longer. She vaguely noticed Lucius standing in the background as she matched the blonde woman's pace, and without saying another word, the pair embraced tightly. Everything about her, right down to the smell of her hair, was familiar. She looked a little worn, as age can do to you, and perhaps a little wider than she remembered, but she was still Narcissa Malfoy.

"I heard… I heard," she stammered weakly in Deidre's ear, "that you were coming back today. I didn't want to miss you, so I came as soon… I've missed you so terribly!"

Deidre held her tighter in response, the words too choked in her throat to actually get out. When they pulled away, their hands still clutching each other's forearms, Narcissa shook her head, "I'm so sorry for Bellatrix and … that day… I…"

"I could hardly blame you," Deidre managed to get out, a smile on her lips. "I'm sorry the Ministry found you afterward… I'm sorry they took Lucius…."

"Nothing to be sorry for," she mumbled, her hands tightening on her arms. "I wish we had all come to see you when he did… You… You sent him home really, really drunk."

"Tequila," she laughed, her cheeks tinting at the memory of that day. "Certainly not my finest moment."

"From what I remember," she heard Lucius laugh pleasantly from behind them, "I think you handled yourself with great composure… when we were seated."

"Hardly," she snorted as she stepped around Narcissa and accepted a very, very chaste peck on the cheek from her husband. "Very good to see you again, Lucius."

"You too, Deidre," he remarked softly, giving her a small smile.

It was odd to think that this man, at one point, had been her best friend. Before Narcissa, and before anyone else, Lucius was her first true friend within the ranks. Sure, he was just a power-hungry git like they all were at first, but as time passed a meaningful friendship had spawned beneath them. How easy it was to forget those days.

"My lord," Narcissa said quickly, causing Deidre to break from her thoughts. The woman at her side dipped her head a touch, as Lucius did, and Deidre returned to her place next to her husband, hoping he was not too frustrated with the delay.

"Have you begun moving the prisoners into the castle, Lucius?" he inquired.

"Yes, my lord," Lucius replied quickly, his tone a little more solid and less playful. "The Lovegood girl and Ollivander are secure. A few others are being brought in this afternoon, and Snape will be in with the Granger girl this evening."

"Good," her husband noted. "The sooner the better, Lucius."

"Of course, my lord."

Deidre noticed Narcissa studying her children from behind the pair, and she beckoned them over with a wave of her hand.

"I don't know if you'll remember the Malfoys," she started, pulling Regan up a little, "but they are my very close friends, and we lived with them for a time-"

"Lucius!" Armand greeted happily, extending his hand to for a shake, "Great to see you again!"

Deidre noticed the way her husband shot their son a look, one that expressed his annoyance that Armand had never been as pleased to see him. It only lasted a moment or so, but he caught Deidre watching him and cocked his head, as though there wasn't a thing in the world wrong. She knew exactly what was wrong, but looked away again too, ignoring it for now.

"Armand," Lucius grinned in return, shaking the young man's hand heartily. "Good to see you too. You've gotten quite tall since we last met."

Armand turned to greet Narcissa as well, giving her a cheek kiss, which she seemed pleased over. Deidre was sceptical as to how much he actually remembered of the Malfoys. Perhaps, a rather devious thought suggested, he was merely putting on a show in front of Voldemort because he could. Regan was less boisterous about the meeting, mostly because there was very little chance she remembered much of the Malfoys; she was so young when they lived there.

"Didn't I used to dress up your son in doll's clothes?" she asked suddenly, as if a memory struck her. Voldemort snorted loudly, and Lucius shifted a touch.

"Yes… Yes, you did," Narcissa mused, nodding her head. "I've yet to tell him of those wonderful times… I'm sure you can enlighten him when you two meet again."

"Ah, now where is Draco?" Deidre inquired, ignoring her husband's impatient huff.

"He was helping me move prisoners into the dungeons," Lucius explained proudly. "So I suspect he will still be somewhere in the castle."

"We might run into him then," Voldemort remarked, bored. "Come along, Deidre."

The children followed him as he turned away, Armand a touch more reluctantly than Regan, and Deidre released a sigh, "I suppose that means the conversation is over… I'll be in touch."

Narcissa smiled as they grasped hands for a brief moment, and Deidre scurried off to catch up with her husband and children.

* * *

"Look at this one!" Regan shouted, giggling as the court ladies in the picture shrieked and tried to hide behind a sofa. Wizard paintings were absolutely ridiculous, and after a general tour of the castle – a brilliant work of sheer genius in itself – Armand and Regan left their parents to explore the main staircases and the paintings around them on their own. Charles was currently tied up somewhere outside, since it was such a glorious day. And she had a sinking suspicion that her father didn't particularly like the fact that the dog was sniffing things all over the castle, knocking most of them over if they weren't nailed down.

Hogwarts brought forth a mixed array of feelings. Half of her was delighted to be here; it was beautiful, magical, and everything she had always imagined it to be. Her father seemed to be pleased with her reaction to everything, which also made her happier than she thought it would. But the other dark side of her hated her old world, the Muggle world, and the people who put her there. If it hadn't been for them, she would have seen this fantastic place when she was eleven, not ten years later. Something inside her was also upset with her mother for not letting her into this world sooner. Everyone wanted her attention. Magic was amazing, but Regan found herself basking in the glow of her father's worshippers as much as anything else.

Armand was enjoying himself too, but in a much more subdued way, as usual. He asked their father a lot of questions about the castle, but Regan noticed it sounded much more like a student asking a professor a question than it did a son being inquisitive with his father. Whatever. If that was how he wanted to treat the magical world's most brilliant wizard, then fine. Regan wasn't about to comment on it, or correct him. Armand could do as he wished.

Speaking of which, Armand suddenly appeared at her side, chuckling as the ladies cried out again and tried to hide.

"Dreadfully shy, aren't they?" he inquired.

"Painfully so," she replied, trying to sound as posh as possible. "These are all so ridiculous."

"You're ridiculous!" one of the women in the painting squeaked at her. Regan rolled her eyes in response, and then struck the side of the painting, causing a vase to fall to the ground inside, and the women to scream again.

"Come on, don't be cruel," her brother remarked softly, straightening the portrait out as Regan moved onto the next one. She gazed at it intently, watching the rolling waves of the ocean crash against a lighthouse. Quite pretty, really. All of a sudden, a face came flying out of the painting, screeching as it did, and Regan let out a horrified scream as she ducked out of the way. The ghost – something they had already seen once or twice on their tour – blew a raspberry at her, and then went screaming down through the staircases and into the bottom floor.

"I suspect that was the resident poltergeist, Peeves," Armand laughed, leaning over the railing to watch the ghost dive in and out of the stone floor. "Don't think he likes you very much."

"I'm surprised father hasn't gotten rid of him yet," she snapped, running her hands over her body to ensure nothing was too frazzled looking. "I think I'll put in a request."

He shot her a frown, and then looked back over the railing. There was a sudden trembling from the staircase above them, and the siblings watched as it shifted across the great hall, connecting to another floor in the process.

"Look, what's your problem today, anyway?" she demanded, annoyed that her brother became so moody whenever she mentioned their father.

"I'm fine."

"No, you aren't," she sneered, leaning on the railing beside him. "Look, you can pretend with mum, but I know when you're being a stupid sod who is overthinking everything."

"Overthinking?" Armand snapped, shooting her a look, "If anything, I'm thinking just the right amount! You're the one who is _under thinking_, if anything."

"There's nothing to think over!" she argued, rolling her eyes, "Our father is a brilliant wizard! He figured out how to come back to us, and he's _saving_ us from that pitiful world and putting us where we belong!"

"I was fine in that _pitiful_ world," Armand muttered as he shook his head. "This place is amazing… but I don't think I want to stay."

"What?"

"I have a life already," he reasoned. "I have a career in the works, I like helping people… even if they are Muggles. And I can't imagine my world without Jared in it-"

"Then be a wizard doctor and bring Jared here!" she scowled. He was being stupid. Stupid and self-centred and stupid.

"Yeah, I'm sure our _father_ would love to have my male Muggle lover hanging around the castle," Armand droned sarcastically. "Maybe he can join us for Christmas dinner and everything. They'll get drunk, talk about politics, and then he'll tell me all my life choices are perfect. I can see it already!"

"You're being a stubborn twat!" she nearly shouted, pushing his shoulder irritably, "Just give this a chance!"

"No," he said firmly as he pushed off the railing. "Once the summer is over, I'm going home, and that's that."

She watched as her brother turned his back to her, and then marched down the staircase, clearly over the conversation. With eyebrows knitted, she glared at him, and then shouted, "I hate you sometimes, you know that?"

* * *

Armand knew perfectly well that Regan could hate him sometimes. After all, she was quite the drama queen; of course her emotions were going to run hot and cold. She was just upset that he wasn't as thrilled as she was to be here, and he didn't agree with every other word that came out of her mouth. It had happened before, it would happen again, and he knew she just needed a few moments to cool off before she got over it.

It wasn't that he didn't like Hogwarts. The castle was amazing, and he planned to explore every inch of it before the summer was over. But that was all this place was going to be for him; a summer vacation. He had built his reality back home, and while it would kill his mother to watch him go back to it, that was his decision alone to make. His 'father' really had no influence over his life at the given moment, nor did Armand ever intend on letting him control anything. He was just another man at this point… a man who had the connections to get him free herbs.

Hey, he never said there weren't _any_ perks.

His exploration of the castle solo was cut short when he approached the main hall. As he stood at the top of the grand staircase, he watched his father point at a few men that were being dragged in, and his mother nodded calmly beside him. There were men robed completely in black hauling in scruffy, beaten, and nearly destroyed looking men, and Armand could only assume that these were the prisoners that Lucius had referred to earlier.

With a frown, he continued down the staircase, his eyes still on the men as they were hauled into doorways, which no doubt led down to the dungeons that they had seen earlier.

"Are these the prisoners?" he inquired, causing his mother to flinch in surprise. He hadn't meant to startle her.

"Yes," his father remarked, "mostly members of the old Ministry that I haven't decided what to do with yet. A speedy death was never an option I was willing to give."

"Ah," was all he could force out, eyes still on the ragged men. He tried to formulate something to reply with, but the idea of brutally murdering a whole slew of men sort of left him speechless. Fortunately, his mother managed to fill the silence with a gasp, her eyes now resting on a prisoner. Armand frowned and followed her gaze until he spotted a rather shaggy looking man, older than his mother, being hauled in by a pair of men, his feet dragging lamely on the ground.

"Ah yes, Rufus Scrimgeour," his father stated, sounding absent in thought. "I believe you two know each other-"

"Give me your wand," his mother snapped, holding out her hand to her husband. The man seemed momentarily taken back, and did nothing to fill her request. Instead, he opened his mouth to reply, but his mother cut him off again by snatching it out of his cloak and storming off toward the fellow.

"Deidre," his father barked warningly, and it was only then that Armand clued into what she was going to do with that wand. The man looked up weakly, and although it looked like it pained him, he started to laugh, no doubt spurring his mother on. Well, Armand wasn't about to let her do something stupid that she would regret.

"Mother!" he called, hurrying toward her and grabbing her arm, "Mother, what are you-"

"He's the reason we were put there!" she growled, pushing his hand off her, "_He_ put us in that Muggle _hell_!"

Armand took a step back; he had never seen her look like that. Her fury was startling, and she motioned for the men to put this Rufus fellow down, which they complied with and then hastily stepped away. The man continued to laugh, taunting his mother until her foot collided with his face, silencing him momentarily. The young man was stunned; he never knew his mother had it in her to inflict damage on another person… she was always so reserved, even around people who drove her insane.

His father was soon at his side, eyes on the woman before them. She raised the wand, held it level with the broken man on the floor, and then hissed something too soft for him to hear. However, the effects of the spell were soon apparent, and the man hollered in agony as his body lit on fire, the flames licking at the stone floor, looking for organic material to expand onto but finding nothing. Therefore, they were contained to his body, and the man's screams echoed throughout the hall.

"Mother… What…" Armand trailed off, unable to find the words once again to say anything. She took a few steps away from the body, which was slowly becoming charred and silent, and then held the wand back out to her husband, who took it cautiously. The man then grinned wolfishly and pulled her close.

"I always enjoy it when you remind me why I married you," he purred at her, making Armand want to vomit. He turned away, disgusted, and left the main hall, the scent of burnt flesh too much to handle at that particular moment.

* * *

Voldemort watched as his wife leaned back, a hint of sweat on her forehead as she held herself up on the desk. In turn, he settled into what used to be the headmaster's chair, completely satiated with that evening's encounter. He had always had a secret guilty pleasure to fuck his wife in the headmaster's office, on the desk, as roughly as he could. She ran a hand through her hair, pushing the red waves out of her face as her breathing returned to something close to normal.

"That was…" she trailed off, her voice still heady with pleasure, "perfect."

"You should always expect perfection with me," he remarked with a smirk, watching as she straightened herself out slowly. "Haven't you learned anything yet, Deidre?"

"I suppose not," she mused, shooting him a coy look as she slid off the desk and them smoothed down her dress. "I might need more proof."

"I thought as much," he chuckled, leaning up a touch to meet her kiss. She smiled weakly, a hand on his chin, and then stepped back, marching around the desk as she fixed herself up a touch more.

"I should make sure the children found the kitchens," she commented, smoothing her hands over her dress front. "Join me?"

He glanced at the clock, and then shook his head, "I should be expecting Severus soon with our final captive."

She nodded, "All right. I'll find you later."

And with that, she was gone. On her way out, as the door to the office remained opened just a fracture, he heard her apologize for bumping into someone, and the voice of Severus Snape respond that it was no matter at all. Snape obviously knew who she was; he had filled the man in on his plans some time ago, and had him concoct a vile of Polyjuice Potion for his trip to the Muggle world personally. As if he had time to brew positions; he had a world to run.

Now, he had left one Hermione Granger in the hands of Severus Snape almost a year ago for a few reasons; most of them involved the fact that he was the least likely to return her in a worse off condition than she arrived in. Greyback had petitioned quite hard to watch the girl, but there was no way he was going to lose one of his most prized prisoners to a wolf's lust. Best friend of Harry Potter, key element to the Order… Hermione Granger was a prize, indeed. The longer she stayed with them, after having been captured in the last battle before Harry Potter fled into hiding, the more Potter and his friends suffered over the horrific thoughts of what they could be doing to her. Severus also understand, that while she might have been a Mudblood, she was crucial to breaking Potter, and must survive long enough in order to do so. Besides, the man had taught her for nearly seven years already; Voldemort assumed he could handle her better than anyone else. The Malfoys had enough prisoners in their cells, after all.

Moments later, Severues appeared in the doorway, and then knocked twice on the frame. Voldemort met his gaze from his position at the desk, still relaxed, though cleaned up from his previous activities. He then beckoned him in with a nod, and the darkly clad man stepped in. Behind him came Hermione Granger, quite the same as he remembered her from a year ago; lengthy light brunette hair, slim, ever inquisitive eyes. She would have been quite as asset, had her loyalties been elsewhere. Behind her, only a few seconds later, came a blundering Fenrir Greyback, his eyes also sharp. Severus seemed mildly annoyed – a usual state – to have the wolf following him; this should be entertaining, to say the least.

"Severus," he greeted, giving him another nod. "Early, as I expected."

"Of course, my lord," the man droned, Hermione at his side with a large bag slung over her shoulder. "I thought it best to move Miss Granger in before the wolves returned… apparently they too arrived early."

"I've missed my girl," Greyback announced, still standing near the doorway, as Voldemort had not acknowledged him enough yet to enter.

"Quiet, Greyback," Voldemort snapped, causing the creature to cower a touch. "You will speak when spoken too."

Silence was his response, as it should be, and Voldemort carried on, "So how is the Mudblood?"

"In fine health," Severus responded smoothly, earning him a curious look from his companion. "The same as she was when she was entrusted to me."

"As I expected," Voldemort repeated, his maroon eyes turning to the girl. "Well, Mudblood… Are you the same as you were?"

She blinked in surprise at being addressed, and then cleared her throat, her voice smaller than he remembered, "Professor… Er, Snape treated me cordially enough while I was in his home."

"Cordially?"

"To a point," Severus remarked quickly, earning a smirk from Voldemort.

"She will be living in your old quarters during the night," he explained, cocking his head to the side as he eyed her, which made her shift uncomfortably, "and by day I will have other assignments for her. Clear?"

"Yes, my lord," Severus responded. "Am I still to be her keeper?"

"Do you have better things to do, Severus?"

"I do as my lord commands," was the obedient answer. "I was merely clarifying for myself."

"You will mind her here," he instructed, "and ensure she does not wander. However," his eyes drifted to Greyback, "I did promise Greyback he could escort our Mudblood captive to her quarters the first night she arrived for his recent work in Ireland…"

The girl released something of a quiet sob, her reserve breaking for a moment, and he watched Fenrir take a few steps toward her in anticipation. Severus too lost his carefully conserved features, seeming put off momentarily.

"Do my decisions displease you?" Voldemort inquired dangerously, leaning forward a touch to let Severus feel his presence.

A moment later, the man was as he always was; collected and calm. He shook his head, "Of course not. I do fear, however, you will end up with less than what you see here should you let Greyback be alone with her."

"I know what I'm doing, Snape," he reminded the man pointedly, to which Severus nodded and said nothing further. He turned his attention to Greyback, "Her condition will be the same in the morning, Greyback. Bite, and I'll have your teeth ripped out."

"Understood, my lord," the man grunted as he grabbed the girl by her upper arm, and then dragged her hastily from the room. Voldemort stared Severus down for only a moment before the dark eyes looked away, and he then gave a curt bow before leaving as well.

* * *

There were few things out there that made Severus Snape cringe. Shrieking birds, obnoxious brats, and the terrified screams of Hermione Granger, accompanied by the laughter of Fenrir Greyback.

Voldemort had won the war, so far. Dumbledore, surely, had not seen that coming. In fact, Snape hadn't seen that coming. Therefore, he had to remain in his usual position as loyal servant to the Dark Lord, Death Eater, and snarky git who taught various lessons around Hogwarts when the school was in session. The Dark Lord trusted few to teach his beloved Purebloods magic, and Severus was given the joy of teaching Potions, the Dark Arts and an odd lecture in the History of Magic here and there. Not that he really minded teaching; it was the commute that was a pain. He had opted to live outside of the castle, having spent far too many years inside it, and would travel back and forth between his home to teach the required lessons. In that time, he also had Granger living with him.

He understood why he ought to take the girl; anyone else would have broken her completely. Her mind, body and spirit would be nothing by the time the Dark Lord decided to actually do something with her. She was, of course, sullen and upset to be living with him, but when he carefully explained that he had no intentions of remaining true to Voldemort, and that this charade was necessary to keep spying, her hardness toward him lessened. Not by much, as he knew he was barely any good company around the house, but they were compatible. She graded a lot of his first year assignments, as he still had no patience for idiots, and helped out around the house. For the first time in a long time, the place was not scattered with half-read books, notes, newspapers, and partially filled coffee mugs. No, with all her spare time, Hermione kept the place neat. She could still be intolerable, but because she knew that her fate could have been much worse in the hands of someone else, she was civil. In fact, he would have liked to think at this point, they had developed something a touch beyond a friendship. He could not put his finger on it just yet, but something else was there.

It would be kept secret, of course. It was best if he didn't know what the feelings were, should Voldemort decide to probe his mind. If he found out what Snape thought of Hermione, honest and true, he had a good feeling that he would never see the girl again. The thought of losing one of the only people he currently considered a friend, not a false ally or an individual who was using him for his abilities, was saddening, to say the least. Although he had never been one for many friends, instead preferring associates of varying degrees, Hermione was different. They were… compatible. It would be a shame if the relationship they had developed over the past year was shot to Hell because Severus could not control his thoughts around Voldemort, a skill he had perfected long ago.

He closed his eyes in the darkness as Hermione screamed again, her voice trailing off weakly from within his old teacher's quarters. The man knew the dungeons better than anyone, and he had found a perfect crook in which to hide while he waited for Greyback to finish with her. They had been in there together for a half an hour, perhaps more, and Severus had to commend the wolf on his longevity. Who knew he had it in him? However, the moment that thought occurred to him, he heard the familiar creak of his old doorknob in the sudden silence, and then Greyback's heavy footsteps down the corridor. The man held his breath as the werewolf passed him, tucking his shirt back into his pants awkwardly as he went. Snape waited until he was sure the man was completely gone, and then crept out of his hiding place, his own shoes quiet as he moved down the hallway. He was a shadow, and nothing more.

The door was unlocked when he arrived, and he hastily pushed it open and darted inside, locking it behind him. His quarters were never as big as some of the other staff had. Inside was his old twin bed, a set of drawers, a pathetic excuse for a closet, and a doorway leading into a small lavatory, which contained the standard shower, toilet and sink, along with a mirror and small cabinet. When he stepped in, he spotted Hermione nestled beneath the dingy covers of his twin, her shoulders and arms bare. Her eyes were wide and red when they met his, full of fear. When she realized, no doubt, that he was not Greyback come back for a second round, she buried her face in her hands, sobbing. The clothing she had been wearing was scattered across the floor, and Severus said nothing as he picked all the pieces up and set them on top of her bag, which had been forgotten in the corner.

Instead, he went into the bathroom and retrieved some tissues, and a woolly towel from its usual location under the sink. Biting his inner cheek, a little unsure what to say, he merely sat down on the bed next to her, and then held out the tissue. When she didn't notice his hand, he cleared his throat, causing her to look up, and then take the tissue and blow her nose noisily into it. That seemed to settle her a touch, as the uncontrollable sobbing had stopped. Instead, her shoulders and hands simply shook, her eyes transfixed to the floor.

"Perhaps," he started finally, "a shower is necessary?"

Hermione gave a weak nod as he wrapped the towel around her shoulders. His hands fell automatically back into his lap, though he was sure he could do something more with them to comfort her. One came up and was about to rest on her back, but he instead chose her shoulder, giving it a light squeeze as he did so.

"I am sorry, Hermione," Snape muttered. "I wanted to do more, but-"

"I know," she said quickly, cutting him off. "What could you have done? Argue for me in front of him?"

"Of course not," he replied, a bit redundant, "but I wish that could have been an option. No one deserves… this."

"No," she agreed, her voice strained. "No one does."

"I can brew a counter-contraceptive broth, if you wish," he offered after another few minutes of silence. "If… If you need it."

She shook her head, her cheeks flushing suddenly, "No, he… He didn't finish… there. I..."

"That's fine," he said, cutting her off to spare her the embarrassment. "I understand."

She drew the towel around herself, awkwardly pushing the duvet cover away to replace it with the towel. The girl then eased herself out of the bed, wincing a little as she did so, and Severus reached forward to catch her arm when she faltered.

"This wasn't how it was supposed to be," she mumbled as she stood in front him, wrapped in one of his old towels. "The first time."

"It's never as good as it's supposed to be," Severus remarked plainly as he moved his hand from her arm to her own hand, grasping it with just enough pressure to feel her squeeze back, "but I am sorry you feel cheated."

She glanced down at their clasped hands, and for a moment appeared to have something further to say. Instead, she merely gave his hand another squeeze, and disappeared into the lavatory, the door shutting softly behind her. Another few moments passed, and even though he could hear the shower running, her sobbing had resumed, and it seemed as though no amount of water pressure could mask it.


	20. It starts when you're around

_**PRESENT DAY – JULY, 1999 **_

It felt so odd living at Hogwarts again. She dropped out when she was fifteen, and when Deidre left, she wasn't exactly looking back with many fond memories. It wasn't the place for her, at the time, and it didn't seem to give her the life she wanted. Nothing in school particularly interested her, the professors were boring and strict, and she hadn't made mountains of good friends that she intended to keep anyway. Sure, she made a few here and there, but most of them reminded her so much of her parents that it was sickening. It wasn't odd for young witches to drop out of school at her age, anyway. Many opted to marry and start having children in their teens, a life that they knew they were destined to have. Deidre hadn't done it for that. She and her husband weren't married until many years later, but she wanted her independence. Her parents were mortified when she left school, and the delicious luxury of home, to work in a coffee shop in some hovel of a village. However, at the time, that was the life she wanted. Now that she was back at Hogwarts, reunited with her recently deceased husband and children, she still felt out of place. The halls were foreign to her. It was a massive castle, just as she remembered, but with no students inside, it felt barren. She and her family lived in the castle along with several other keen members of her husband's inner circle. Lucius and Narcissa did not, but their son Draco, all grown up, now lived in the Slytherin dormitories with several younger members of the Death Eater ranks.

Severus Snape, a man her husband held in high esteem, also lived at the castle, along with a prisoner that was a good friend of Harry Potter's. Deidre had yet to see the girl, and had no intention of going out of her way to find her. As far as she was concerned, the filthy Mudblood was here to serve a penance for choosing the wrong side of the war. It was her husband's business, and she would respect whatever decision he made regarding the teenager. Unfortunately, a werewolf pack occupied the Forbidden Forest's borders, and their alpha had a room to himself near the old green houses. Bellatrix Lestrange and her husband Rodolphus also had a room to themselves in the castle, which was unsettling for Deidre. She hated the woman, and had hated her for many years at this point. It was always so very clear that she was in love with Voldemort, despite the fact he married and had children, and Deidre wouldn't put it past her to try to initiate some sort of secret relationship with the man. If she could have it her way, she would swap the Lestranges for some of the wolves in the forest. She was quite sure they would be more tolerable. At this point, she hadn't seen either of them, and if she could, the redhead planned to avoid both for as long as possible.

Otherwise, the majority of her husband's supporters had homes in the village. Pillow talk made her privy to information. Most were staunch supporters who had followed him throughout his many years away, and to reward them, he moved them to Hogsmeade after removing any resident who did not follow the new regime. Apparently, people were fighting each other, sometimes quite viciously, to get a Hogsmeade house. It was a little astonishing that so many wealthy purebloods were willing to abandon their lovely homes in the countryside to live in shacks and cottages in Hogsmeade, but then again, her husband had always had that effect on people. Many were willing to drop everything, Deidre included, to find ways to make him happy. Any token of affection, be it praise or merely a flicker of a smile when something amused him, was what many ached for. She wasn't sure the specifics to his magnetism, but he had been seducing individuals from all walks of life for well over twenty years, perhaps longer. So when one considered all that, it wasn't a surprise that the new population of Hogsmeade Village consisted mainly of wealthy pureblood elitists. It also made sense that he would surround himself with people like her. This was the world they wanted to build, after all. A world of the pure. It made sense to start around the home.

It had only been two days since she and her children arrived, and already Regan had settled in perfectly. She decorated her own private room in the Ravenclaw Tower, and Armand was permitted to occupy the opposing Gryffindor one. Her daughter had the house elves in the kitchens preparing her favourite meals, the ghosts putting on fencing charades, and the portraits greeting her wherever she walked. Her husband was absolutely enamoured with their daughter. It was easy to tell by the way he looked at her, and subsequently looked at Deidre. There was a look in his eyes that said she had done well with Regan; she had raised his perfect daughter. Naturally, there were things that they would both tweak about the young woman, but that would most likely come with time. Deidre definitely did not get that look of admiration when it came to Armand. It had been less than a week, and already Deidre saw that old expression on her husband's face arise again when he looked at their son, as if Armand wasn't quite good enough. She hoped that if they both set aside their ridiculous notions of one another, they might come to discover they were actually very, very similar in a lot of ways.

She woke alone that morning, and found that her husband put a house elf on stand-by to prepare a breakfast in bed for her. It was flattering, but she knew he was only doing it so she wouldn't be annoyed that he hadn't come back to the castle the previous night to sleep. She wasn't particularly sure where she was, but as she read the Daily Prophet in bed with a tray of steaming hot pancakes, Deidre decided he was bound to have something to do with a recent, last night recent, explosion of a Parisian Ministry building in France that publically supported the old Ministry regime and denounced her husband's leadership. Narcissa had filled her in on some international tidings at their lunch date yesterday; apparently the Scottish embassy had made threats of starting their own Ministry for Magic, and the French Ministry was very vocal in their opposition toward her husband, though in a tactfully political way that made their position seem somewhat ambiguous. Therefore, despite her husband's staunch supporters in England and Ireland, she now knew that he had some enemies on different borders that he would need to deal with if he wanted to legitimize his leadership. Narcissa told her no one seemed too concerned over it, but if she knew her husband like she once did, it was probably driving him mad.

However, from everything she remembered from the first half of their marriage, it was best not to try to fix things for him. Even if Deidre thought he was doing something wrong, or handling a situation poorly, it only infuriated him more when she stepped in to try and fix something. The same could probably be said for most men, but she learned long ago that her husband dealt with extremes, and it wasn't smart to upset his temper with stupidity. So, even though she wanted to talk to him about his foreign relations, Deidre did not. Instead, she kissed him farewell when he left early in the afternoon, after her luncheon with Narcissa, and smiled at him happily before he apparated away. From there, she spent the rest of the night exploring rooms in the castle with Armand, who seemed to wish to devour the castle whole for academic merit alone, and then retired to bed alone.

Now, close to noon, she found herself hankering for something to eat down at the village. However, she couldn't go alone, because she was sure to be swarmed by _someone_ wanting _something_ that she couldn't give them, but would be forced to listen to politely anyway. The year may be different, but Deidre was quite sure the times hadn't changed. So, she dragged Regan out of bed around eleven and asked her to accompany Deidre for something to eat. It took the girl nearly an hour to get ready, but when she finally dragged herself up to Deidre's bedchambers, she decided that Regan was starting to dress to impress on a higher level. She had her dark hair perfectly straightened, and then up in a ponytail that resembled the beehive hairstyles of the 1960s. Her make-up was apparent and yet suitable enough for daytime wear, which was actually a nice change. She opted for a fitted dark green dress, rising a little too far up her thighs for Deidre's liking, but topped it off with sandals and a lovely black blazer. So, with the arms covered, her mother deemed the outfit appropriate for their outing.

Deidre wasn't sure how to dress in this world anymore. She hadn't been paying enough attention to see what the fashion trends were in the magical world. Regan may not have cared, but Deidre didn't want to stand out any more than she already did. So, to play it safe, she wore a beige sundress with cuffed sleeves around her shoulders. The hem stopped just below her knees, and she finished the look off with a cute pair of flats. Meanwhile, she wore minimal make-up and swept her hair partially back into a half-up-half-down type of fashion. All in all, she thought she looked acceptable, and Regan told her that she was sure the outfit would pass in the Muggle and magical world. Therefore, she insinuated Deidre was playing it too safe with her wardrobe selections, but they couldn't all be actresses invested in fashion and the bold. _Some_ people were no longer in their early twenties, and should dress accordingly. With a pale yellow clutch in hand, Deidre and Regan walked from the castle to the outer village, arms linked, Regan complaining mildly that they could have used magical transport to get around instead of walking. They were, after all, in a place where they no longer had to hide it. Deidre argued that she thought their walk had been lovely, and she enjoyed their chats. Magic could sometimes take the fun out of things, something Deidre had learned over the years.

She and Regan strolled into the village, basking in the glorious sunshine after several very cloudy days. They decided to go to the Three Broomsticks, as Deidre recalled they had a wonderful brunch special most of the time, and Regan didn't know the village well enough to argue otherwise. Everyone they passed smiled or nodded their head, and she knew a few might actually want to try to speak with her, but she kept Regan walking firmly to avoid the interaction. She wasn't in the mood to deal with people that morning, particularly those who she probably hadn't even met before. However, when a familiar voice called her name, she decided there was one person she was willing to stop for.

"Narcissa," Deidre greeted happily when she turned around, spotting both her friend and her son strolling along in a similar fashion to her and Regan, "lovely running into you this morning!"

"Draco is taking me to lunch," Narcissa informed her, patting her son's arm affectionately with a grin on her lips. "Isn't he a good boy?"

"The very best," Deidre mused, smiling at the young man. "How are you this morning, Draco?"

"Very well, thank you," he replied, nodding his head a little. "Yourself?"

"Hungry," Deidre sighed. "Regan and I seem to be thinking along a similar thought… Why don't you join us for brunch?"

"Oh, that would be wonderful," Narcissa beamed. "Regan, I don't think you've met the adult version of my son yet, have you?"

"Considering we live in the same castle, no, I haven't," Regan replied, cocking her head to the side as she studied the handsome young man in front of them. Deidre couldn't help but notice just how much he looked like Lucius from their more youthful days. He had grown into an attractive fellow; lean, tall, with a thin face and bright blond hair.

"Well, we'll have to remedy that," Narcissa insisted, nudging Draco forward a little. "This is my son, Draco. I believe you two were acquainted a very long time ago..."

"I used to dress you up in a doll's clothing," Regan informed him somewhat smugly as she shook his hand. "Can't say that's the case anymore."

"I should hope not," the man chuckled, shaking her hand in return, his grip apparently firm. "It's nice to finally meet you."

"Finally?"

"The gossip mill runs crazy around this village," Narcissa sighed, rolling her eyes. "I, for one, am perfectly happy not to be a part of it."

Deidre smiled at her old friend, but then arched a curious eyebrow when she hooked her arm around Deidre's, tugging her away a little to walk ahead of their children. Naturally, Draco and Regan fell into line behind them, and a quick glance over her shoulder saw Regan chattering away as Draco nodded, a somewhat awkward expression on his face. Perhaps he was a little less social than his mother, as Narcissa Malfoy was always one to fall gracefully into any social situation thrust upon her. Well, that was what Deidre remembered of her, anyway. Time could change people, but she felt like her friend had remained relatively similar to her old self. Therefore, Draco's unwillingness to leap into conversation right away probably stemmed from Lucius and other pureblood stereotypes that many men believed they ought to follow. Regan, on the other hand, rarely let an opportunity pass to discuss herself, or anything related to herself, which meant conversation was always flowing. She was sure it might come across as exhausting sometimes, but the girl never seemed to have an issue with it.

"He's grown up into a very handsome man, your Draco," Deidre complimented as the pair of women strolled along, arm in arm. Narcissa beamed.

"Isn't he?" she mused, adjusting her periwinkle blue dress a little as the wind blew it about. "He's very bright too… I always knew he'd do well."

"I'm sure he excelled at Hogwarts?"

"Of course," her friend replied, despite the fact that they had had this conversation already the day before, "his marks were exemplary, and he was captain of the Quidditch team."

Deidre forced her smile a bit suddenly, a sadness taking over her that she had felt when they first discussed Draco's school years. She felt like her children missed out terribly on their education, and that experience that Hogwarts gave some people. After all, Armand would have thrived in that environment, and Regan would have been the queen of the Slytherin house, no doubts there. Her friend detected the sudden shift in her facial expression, and she felt Narcissa grip her arm securely, as if to console her silently.

Deidre cleared her throat, "Well, Draco will have to teach Regan to play Quidditch sometime… She was always quite into sports growing up."

"I'll pass that along," the blonde agreed, looking back over her shoulder quickly, and then lowering her voice. "I need to discuss something with you."

She arched an eyebrow, "Now?"

"I'm worried it will be too late to talk about it when we meet again," Narcissa explained, "and I don't want you to be in the dark about this."

"About what?"

"Well… Your husband approached us the other night with a… proposal," the woman explained carefully. "He… He put forth the idea of Regan and Draco possibly… possibly becoming engaged."

"He suggested an arranged marriage?" Deidre hissed, her eyes narrowing, "He hasn't even discussed this with me yet!"

"I told him that it might be best to wait and see if Regan actually likes our boy," Narcissa said quickly, no doubt trying to do some damage control. "I think… I think Draco's always know we would find him a suitable potential wife, but I doubt Regan had that in mind growing up outside our world."

"I can't believe him," Deidre fumed, glaring at the Three Broomsticks as they approached. "Why wouldn't he discuss this with me first? I was the one who raised them all these years!"

Narcissa suddenly stopped and turned around, "Why don't you two find us a seat inside? We'll be there in a moment."

"You all right, Mum?" Regan inquired lightly as she and Draco walked by her. Deidre calmed herself enough to give her daughter a bit of a pointed nod, and she and Draco vanished inside the pub without another word. When she and Narcissa were alone, she groaned loudly, her hands in fists, and continued to glare at nothing in particular. How could he go behind her back about something like this? He barely knew Regan, so how could he be presumptuous enough to know what sort of man she ought to be arranged to? Deidre understood the necessity of an arranged marriage, and knew that many could be very successful in the long-run. However, it was never for her when she was younger, and she wasn't about to force it onto her little girl.

"I understand why it might be upsetting," Narcissa began carefully, placing both hands on her arms, "but I think there are far worse people out there that he _could_ have asked. Gwendolyn Goyle's son looks like a toad-"

"It's not that something is wrong with Draco," Deidre said hastily, shaking her head a little. "I'm sure he's lovely, and if Regan has her way, I'm sure she'll try something with him on her own. It's just… He should have talked to me about this. I may not get to make a lot of decisions in his life, but she's my daughter too!"

"I know," her friend sighed, the tone of her voice relaxing when she realized Deidre wasn't going to fly off into some mental state. "I just wanted you to be aware before our husband's sat down one day and hammered out the details."

"Thank you," Deidre remarked, the look in her eyes genuine. "I would have been much more cross if I found out after that."

"I thought you might like some time to prepare an argument in advance," Narcissa informed her with a bit of a wink. "I find that's the real way to win."

"Very true," Deidre managed, her mind a flutter with all the things she wanted to shout at her husband. Most of all, she wanted to rein in his arrogance when it came to their children. After all, _she_ raised them, not him, and therefore she ought to have more of a say in their lives at the moment. The day he looked after Armand when he was sick, or Regan when she was drunkenly vomiting in the toilet was the day her husband could have some more real power over the pair. This needed to be discussed, and soon.

"Let's just enjoy our breakfast," Narcissa said finally, nodding toward the pub.

"Yes, let's."

The two women started toward it again, but suddenly Narcissa stopped. When Deidre looked back at the blonde woman, she had a slightly perplexed look on her face, eyebrows knitted together. She looked up at the redhead, and then licked her lips.

"Something wrong, Narcissa?"

"I just… I just wanted to ask something," her friend started, nibbling on her lower lip slightly, "but I don't want you to be offended."

"What is it?"

"Well, I was just wondering if something happened the day Lucius came to visit you?" Narcissa asked, and Deidre felt her face pale. "It's just… he hasn't been the same since he returned, and I was wondering if something might have… happened."

This was her chance to confess. Clearly, Lucius hadn't said anything regarding their kiss, and she decided long ago that it was his duty to do so. The guilt ate at her, but she still couldn't bring herself to tell Narcissa the truth about that fateful day all those years ago. She swallowed thickly, and then brushed some loose hair out of her face.

"He… He was very guilty about what happened to me, what with the arrest and my relocation to that filthy world," Deidre explained, careful not to give out the whole truth. "I was drinking at the time, and I… I did get him really drunk for a Wednesday afternoon, but I can't… I can't explain any changes you might see in him."

"Hmm," Narcissa sighed, her eyes a little sullen. "I had hoped you might… He's the same, and yet he's different. I can't put my finger on it, but I do miss him."

Deidre wanted to die. The poor woman, this person who was once her best friend in his whole world, and Deidre couldn't even think about telling her the truth. It had been years ago, yes, but it broke every sacred code the two shared as women and as friends. So, she held onto her silence for just a little while longer. Instead of dwelling on it, she ushered the blonde into the pub. They soon found a seat with their children, both of whom had already ordered for them, and were in the midst of a heated debate about the qualities of a team captain for any given sports team, magical or Muggle.

* * *

**AUTHOR'S NOTE:**

**Sooo, someone actually requested this in my poll, which was lovely. This has always been one of my favourites to write, and if you want to see more of it, go and vote for it to be updated! **

**Now, I wanted to write so much more for the chapter. I have about three sections like this previous one planned out, but I don't have it in me to write. Now that I'm back in school, I'm trying to update stories regularly, work on my book, get on with coursework, and then work and have a social life. So, if I want to do more updates, I'll need to keep them shorter so I don't become overwhelmed. If it were the summer, this would definitely be another 8000+ word chapter. However, it's not, and I apologize, but I'm doing to do the best I can with it. **

**I hope those of you that like this story have enjoyed the update! Deidre is actually one of my favourite characters because she is complex; she supports and loves her husband, but isn't 100% on board with everything. She is an old-fashioned elitist, and yet we see her upset at the notion of arranged marriages. I'll also let you infer about what happened to Lucius when he left her all those years ago. We'll touch on that again, not to worry!**

**Much love! **


	21. Louder than Silence

**AUTHOR'S NOTE:**

**Please read the memo at the end of the chapter! Please and thank you, darlings! **

* * *

_**PRESENT DAY - JULY, 1999**_

Armand couldn't believe this day had finally come. Over the years, he had learned magic without a wand with such fervour that it was almost like he didn't need one. He was more than capable of performing a lot of wandless magic, but usually only did so when the situation called for it. However, now that it was no longer against the law for he and his family to accept their wizarding heritage, Armand had to admit that he was extremely excited to be buying his first wand. So excited, in fact, that he didn't even care that it was only his father that would take he and his sister to London to purchase the tool. No, he just wanted to get down there and start testing wands.

It was late in the afternoon, and their father had summoned Armand and Regan to join him in the Great Hall. There, he informed them they were going to be buying their wands today, and he wanted them to be ready by the end of the hour. As expected, both children were ridiculously excited and sped off to get dressed, although Armand suspected their excitement stemmed from different places. He was thrilled to finally have his wand and learn how to better his magical abilities over the course of his stay at Hogwarts this summer. Meanwhile, he had a sinking suspicion that his younger sister just wanted to start practicing her magic on other people or objects. She wasn't exactly as cautious with her magic as he was, and Armand debated sharing this little bit of insight with their father before they set out. However, the man's coldness remained as Armand settled into the castle, and he decided to just let the old sod figure it out on his own. After all, at this point in his life, Armand owed the man no favours.

Unfortunately, leaving for the afternoon meant leaving Charles behind. The dog had the run of the Gryffindor tower with him, but he was sure the young dog might start chewing furniture if he was left alone for too long. Therefore, Armand decided to take him for a very quick run around the castle's various moving staircases near the tower, just to tire him out a little, and then ordered the portrait of the Fat Lady not to let anyone into the tower unless it was himself or someone in the immediate family. She agreed, but only after he promised to sit with her later that night and indulge in her opera singing. Was it something he was looking forward to? Certainly not. However, the portrait seemed to take a shining to him, and had already turned away some of the castle's nosy occupants the night before when they wanted to introduce themselves to him, so he didn't want to upset her.

Clad in a pair of slightly more fitted beige shorts and a red polo, Armand slipped into a pair of brown shoes and hurried off down toward the Great Hall to meet his father. He met up with Regan halfway there, as they were both still a little shoddy at navigating the castle, but eventually they managed to find their way to the meeting point again.

"You will be traveling by Floo powder to Ollivander's wand shop in Diagon Alley," their father explained as he strolled past them, leaving the Great Hall behind and motioning to a large fireplace just outside. "I will apparate and meet you on there. Any questions?"

"Does Ollivander still run the shop?" Armand inquired, ignoring the slightly irritated look on his father's face. He was curious, after all, to see if he would get to meet the famed wandmaker who he had read so much about. His father frowned a little, and then sighed.

"I have reinstated him to work for this one day," he explained tightly. "Otherwise he is retired."

"Who runs the shop then?" Armand asked. Who could possibly take over for the famed Ollivander? He was in all of the books Armand read growing up, and it seemed odd that anyone would even let him retire, especially if he was a functional wizard.

Regan rolled her eyes, "Who cares?"

"I do-"

"Well, you're the only one," she sneered, clearly still a little irritated with him for his decision to return home once the summer was over. He sighed, and although a part of him desperately wanted to explain so many things to Regan, he opted for silence instead. With that settled, his sister marched across the hall and examined the robust mantel of the fireplace. He started to move, only to come to an abrupt halt when his father stuffed a small bag in his hands without warning. Giving it a quick feel, he realized his father had given him the required Floo Powder to travel with. He said nothing still, and simply followed in Regan's wake to the fireplace.

"I'll go first," he told her, reaching into the small silk sack and withdrawing a handful of powder and then giving it over to her.

"Why?"

"Wouldn't you rather me knock into whatever is in the way on the other side?" he asked, a slight grin on his lips. "This way, the only thing you'll fall into is me."

She seemed to give it a thought, lips pursed, and then stepped back with a nod toward the fireplace, "All right, just get on with it then."

He glanced back at his father, but the man seemed more focused on giving Regan a bit of a disapproving look, most likely due to her attire. For some reason, she opted with a pair of short black shorts and a pale blue t-shirt that was just a hint too short. His sister had an attractive figure. Any idiot could see that, and he wasn't going to ignore the obvious just because they were siblings. However, he certainly disapproved with the way she showed it off to the boys her age with absolutely no intentions of doing anything with their advances. She did it to tease, and perhaps their father didn't know her well enough just yet to realize she was all flash with no follow through. Armand shook his head. Let the old bastard figure it out on his own time. If he had actually been with them since he returned he would have known what Regan was like by now.

Giving the powder a squeeze, he stepped into the mantel, ducking his head a bit, and then turned around. Regan stared back at him, arms crossed, tapping her foot impatiently, and he rolled his eyes. In a firm, clear voice, he said, "Ollivander's wand shop."

He then threw the powder down, and within seconds found himself engulfed in the warm glow of green flames. Regan and his father disappeared from sight, and he soon stumbled out of a new fireplace into a musty shop. He stumbled, just like last time, but managed to catch himself on a shelf before he tumbled completely to the ground.

"Careful there, young sir," came a wheezing, aged voice. "It's always a little tricky the first few times…"

A hand touched his shoulder softly, and Armand steadied himself. When he turned around, he immediately met the gaze of a man he presumed to be Garrick Ollivander. Pale silver eyes looked back at him, and Armand was quick to assess his physical well-being. Sunken cheeks, thin lips, pale skin with heavy bags under his eyes. The man's hair appeared to be falling out, and he was dressed in something similar to a bathrobe. With hunched shoulders, he did what he must have thought was helpful to keep Armand on his feet after the magical transportation, but Armand barely felt much of his touch. From a clinical perspective, he looked terrible.

"Mr. Ollivander," Armand said quickly, taking the man's hand gently in his and giving it a shake. "It's an honour to meet you. I've read all about you… My name is Armand-"

"I am very much aware of who you are," the man told him, his skin wrinkling when he smiled. "I was very… curious about you."

He blinked, unsure of what he meant, but smiled in return regardless, "We're both very excited that you are personally helping us select our wands today. It really is such an honour."

"I didn't really get much of a choice, now did I?" Ollivander mused quietly, his smile faltering just a touch. "Will your… father be along soon?"

"With my sister, yes," Armand informed him, sensing the man's sudden discomfort. "She was just behind me."

Then, as if on cue, Regan flew out of the fireplace, squealing when she knocked into Ollivander, who in turn tumbled into Armand. He managed to catch both of them, and Regan quickly recovered her footing while he steadied Ollivander.

"I _really_ don't like this floo network," she grumbled, dusting her shirt off in disgust. "I asked him to take me with him on a side-along, but he wouldn't let me."

"Probably didn't want you vomiting all over the shop when you arrived," Armand chuckled, which earned him a glare. "Speaking of which, meet Mr. Ollivander."

"Hello," Regan grinned, no doubt mustering up as much politeness as her excitement could manage. "Can we start looking at wands now?"

There was a loud 'crack' across the room, and Armand watched the wandmaker cower a little when his father stepped out from the shadows. The man seemed neither pleased nor upset to be there, and Armand immediately found himself agitated by his decidedly neutral expression. At that moment, he wished his mother had come along. She would have made this trip so much better, and possibly kept his father's moods in check.

"Start with my son," his father insisted, holding out his hand and beckoning his sister back. "Come here, Regan."

"But-"

"Armand is the oldest," their father explained sharply, making his sister pout, "and therefore picks his wand first. You will wait your turn."

Had anyone else said that to her, Armand was fairly sure his sister would have flown into some kind of rage about not being a child anymore. Much to his surprise, she fell obediently to his side, and then picked at her nails. Clearly she was trying to be on her best behaviour, and was succeeding. Impressive.

When he looked back, he saw Ollivander was already meandering into the shelves of old boxes, and he hastily followed. They walked in silence through two aisles, until finally Ollivander stopped, stooped down, and gently pulled out a lengthy box. He held it up, pulled the top off, and revealed a wand made of light wood inside. Armand hesitantly reached in, and he felt electricity run through his fingers at the touch of his first wand. He stood there, completely stunned, and unsure what exactly he was supposed to do with himself.

"Try it out," Ollivander prodded, leaning against the shelf with a small smile. "See if it works for you."

Armand raised it, but Ollivander quickly pushed his arm down, "Not pointed at me, thank you kindly!"

"Oh, sorry," Armand muttered, slightly embarrassed, and turned around clumsily. He had performed magic before, but it felt strange to use a wand to channel it. Slightly at a loss for what he was supposed to do, he raised his arm again, and simply gave it a flick. There was a loud crash at the end of the aisle, and Armand hastily put the wand back in its box when a window shattered somewhere in the store. He almost started to apologize, but Ollivander was already on the move, the box discarded with as he trudged along down the aisle. They tried several more wands, each with a similar result, until they finally happened upon one that mended a broken shelf. Armand grinned triumphantly, cradling what he assumed was the proper fit gently in both hands. When he looked up at Ollivander, the man seemed just as pleased.

"What is it made of?" he asked, examining the dark wood carefully. It had a little give to it when he tried to bend it, and had a lovely carved handle to grasp.

"The wood is black walnut," Ollivander told him. "That kind of wood tends to choose individuals with a good sense of morals in them. The core is unicorn hair, which is known for its excellent healing properties."

Armand nodded knowingly, "I'm a healer in the… in the Muggle world. I'm training to be a pediatrician, which is a doctor for children."

Ollivander gave him a hard look, one eye squinting, and then exhaled, "You are nothing what I expected coming from either of your parents."

Once again he was at a loss for what to say, but smiled anyway, "I hope that's a good thing."

The man patted his arm and then nodded. Without another word, he was limping back down the aisle, no doubt to retrieve his sister to commence her wand selection process. Armand stood in the dusty aisle quietly for a while, studying his wand. It was light, easy to slice through the air, and seemed extremely responsive to the slightest movement and whisper. Pleased, he marched back to the front of the store, only to come to a halt when he realized that meant it was just him and his snake-like father until his sister found her wand. Knowing Regan, she was bound to take forever. Hopefully Ollivander found her something quickly, because without even a word passed between the two men, Armand felt his excitement fading.

"What kind of wand is it?" the man inquired coldly. Armand held it up for him to examine.

"Black walnut with unicorn hair core," he told him. "Apparently it has good healing properties."

"How ordinarily plain," his father sneered, his eyes on Regan as she drummed her fingers on a table. It seemed Ollivander had disappeared somewhere behind a closed door.

"Suppose that's what I am," Armand muttered. "So sorry to disappoint."

A tense silence settled over the pair, spoiled only by Regan's triumphant return several minutes later, a light wood in her hand. She skipped right over to their father, and thrust it forward, "He said it's the only one of its kind left."

Armand found Ollivander leaning heavily on a counter, a vacant expression on his face. When their eyes eventually met, Armand could tell he was less than pleased with the result, and certainly not as excited as Regan.

"Basilisk scale core," she told their father, which made Armand pay attention quickly. "He said it usually goes to the descendants of Slytherin."

"Quite right," their father mused, examining the wand before handing it back to her. "An excellent wand, my dear."

"Apparently the wood has been used for most dark wizards in central Europe," she babbled. "That's good, right? I think he said it was Cypress…"

"The wand personifies the wizard," his father insisted, shooting Armand an icy glare. "Apparently, they still choose well."

Armand frowned. What was that supposed to say about his sister? She wasn't some villain waiting to be unleashed… She was Regan. She was lazy, self-centered, but still the one person in this world who always stood up for him, despite being younger. He looked back at Ollivander, but the man shook his head sadly and disappeared back behind that closed door. A worrying omen if he had ever seen one.

* * *

**AUTHOR'S NOTE:**

**Hello all! Sorry for the short update, but if you want to give my profile a quick read, you'll understand why. I'm using November a month to poll all my readers for their top FOUR stories (and update **_**all**_** of them at least once), and as soon as December hits, those will be the only ones I update until they finish. After that, I will move onto others. **

**This story has been and I think always will be one of my favourites. A lot of it is planned out, so if it isn't one the stories that is voted into the top four, just know it WILL eventually be finished. However, if you'd like to see if more active, take two minutes and head on over to my profile and cast your vote! It would really help me out. I just want to have my awesome readers vote for their four favourites, and then I don't need to spread my muse over about seven or eight stories during the school year. Summer time? No problem. Essays, exams, work and everything else? Kind of hard to even get motivated to write such a big load of stories. Damn it, overly active muse! **

**As always, thank you for the brilliant review. Sorry this was so short… but we'll see much more drama in the future chapters, including unlikely romances, friendships, and a hardcore betrayal that will completely ruin a relationship. Stay tuned!**


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